


Hidden in these lies

by Superbanana



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Arguments, F/F, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, but not totally a slow burn because reasons, missunderstandings, stupid lesbians, they were roommates, tons of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 83,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26515447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superbanana/pseuds/Superbanana
Summary: My feeble attempt at the “oh my God they were roommates” trope.Patsy and Delia are roommates and a fair bit besides that. Stuck in a rut without an obvious out (if you discount the unlikely event that one of them starts talking) general confusion and angst ensues.This started out as a one shot and grew so now it’s a bit bigger I’m giving it its very own home. I’ve whipped through and changed little bits where I felt I’d been lazy so in other words; as Sister Bernadette told Julienne. “Forgive me for I have been twiddling.”New chapter now up
Relationships: Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Comments: 177
Kudos: 175





	1. Atrophy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> atrophy  
> Verb
> 
> The gradual decline in effectiveness or vigour due to underuse or neglect.

The sun was starting to dip low over the terracotta roofed tiles on the criss crossing maze of terraced houses that stretched far off into the distance when Patsy Mount finally pulled into her habitual parking space between her neighbours white van and the man across the roads blue Fiat with the broken wing mirror. 

Tired, feet aching and her rumbling stomach reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since five o clock that morning; Patsy felt more than justified in the grateful sigh she gave out while she pulled up the hand break and switched off the exhaust. It was the last shift of her long week, five long 12 hour days in a row and in a fit of desperation she’d traded her lunch break with Trixie, pushing it to the end of the day so that she could leave an hour early.

It was a lucky thing to grab on a busy maternity ward but it did tend to leave one worn out.

Still, five babies to her name in the last two days alone wasn’t anything to be sniffed at. Besides, the tiredness was barely felt now that her long awaited short week had officially begun and she was staring into the prospect of three lazy days off. Three days of staying up as late as she liked and sleeping in late too; well, for tomorrows child free morning at the very least. She could almost sing.

The man who owned the white van from four doors down was busy moving ladders when she got out of her car and they nodded cheerfully to one another as he smoked a dog eared cigarette, the paper cylinder clenched tightly between his thick lips while he navigated the awkward no man’s land between van wall and wheel arch.

“Business doing good Fred?” Patsy called over her shoulder, slamming the car door behind her. Her hands clumsy and tired as she fumbled in her pocket for house keys.

“Pah,’ Fred dropped his ladders with a grunt and let them slam onto the wooden boards as he slapped at his fag irritably. ‘Business ain’t the trouble. I could do with a day to rest my pins but you know what my Vi’s like. Signing me up to just about every charity case she can find. I suppose if I put a broom up my particulars I could be persuaded to sweep the floor en all.”

“Watch it Fred,’ Patsy gave a knowing glance at Fred’s front window. The curtains were twitching, ‘she might actually hear you one of these days and then you’ll starve.”

“She don’t hear nothing that one. Reckon I’ve met moss with more capacity to listen than her.” Fred griped, pulling on his cigarette with leathery cheeks. The fire had gone out but his well practiced jaw was quickly stoking it back into some kind of life as Patsys questing fingers finally circled the sharp edge of her key.

“You’re an advert for a happy marriage you know that Fred.” Patsy said breezily, weighing the keys in her hand as she looked for a way to end the conversation politely. Always a challenge when her amicable neighbour fancied an extended chatter.

Fred was leaning heavily on his van door, the smoke pooling around his head like a tiny cloud, apparently content to give up his task for the moment.

“Don’t I know it.’ Fred grumbled good naturedly as he smacked his lips loudly before his eyes took on a speculative glint. ‘Saw your girly all dressed up ready to go off to see her daddy yesterday. I thought that had all stopped now?” Fred was watching Patsy with keen interest and Patsy shrugged. Fred was almost as big a gossip as his wife and Delia got tetchy when the street knew her business.

“Ahh don’t ask me. That’s between her mam and dad isn’t it? I don’t get involved.” Patsy hedged.

“Well,’ Fred sniffed meaningfully, his scarred red nose pulsing as he swiped at it. Clearly dissatisfied with the lack of response. ‘He’s a bad one that’s all I’ll say. My Vi says she saw the nipper crying in her tree house last time he let her down. He should see what he’s got, they could have been a right and proper family if he got his act together. Not that I’ll say I regret it,’ Freds frown broke as he winked surreptitiously, ‘Everything works out for the best, eh?”

Fred’s usually warm demeanour had cooled habitually as he spoke about Max and, although Patsy privately agreed with him wholeheartedly on Max’s faults, she didn’t let her face change or give away an opinion.

It was common knowledge that Fred adored Pig. Poor guy was putty in the girls hand, had been since the day she came home in her little car seat and he’d been sent over by Violet with a newly knitted pink blanket for her and an out of date box of milk formula for Patsy and Delia.

The older couple tended to treat Pig like their own grandchild. The unspoken explanation being that while Fred and Vi’s marriage had been a long and happy one all things considered, even if they did bicker on autopilot, they’d never managed to have any children of their own. Violet had confessed to Patsy, one Christmas Eve when Delia had invited the pair over for a celebratory bottle of whiskey, that they’d tried for a very long time and she’d had a few miscarriages but nothing had ever come from their efforts. That was probably why they both doted on Pig so much now. Patsy couldn’t complain.

Built in baby sitters were not to be sneezed at.

Anyway, she liked the old couple even if Vi’s Christmas cards tended along the flowery at times.

“From your mouth to Gods ear Fred.’ Patsy said lightly, backing away, ‘anyway I’m off. You know what it’s like on shifts, my beds calling me and with Pig at her dads I finally get a lie in.”

Fred laughed. They’d all heard about Pigs morning habit. Up with the lark didn’t quite cut it. Pig would probably be up just as the lark was falling asleep if they let her leading to Patsy more than once threatening to weld the girl into her bed.

“You get your head down love and tell Delia I want my drill back. She must have put that coat rack up by now.”

“I shouldn’t think so, it took her six months to put up Pigs desk but I’ll remind her.” Patsy promised over her shoulder as she made a final wave, leaving Fred to continue his eternal battle with his ladders while she gratefully unlocked her front door.

The post bunched up against the door when Patsy got inside. Tutting at the never ending stream of adverts for pizzas, fish and chips and kebabs. Patsy bent down to gather them up in one hand, uncaringly kicking off her shoes. The junk mail was quickly abandoned without a second glance into the recycling bag hanging on the living room door for just such eventualities. Alongside the junk though there were three letters.

One looked like a bank statement and was addressed to Delia, one was this years council tax statement and one was a postcard for Pig showing a beach side cafe in Pembrokeshire. The card promised an upcoming visit sometime in the next month with all the austere authority of Eileen Busbys printed scripts.

Patsy shook her head in exasperation as she tucked the post card on the fridge for safe keeping, wandered into her kitchen and flicked on the kettle.

Surely a phone call to Delia would have been more polite wouldn’t it? A bold statement informing them of a visit all through Pig was, in Patsys book, nothing short of plain rude. But it wasn’t exactly anything new, certainly not something she could change. Plain facts were that Eileen Busby would never accept that Delia had chosen to stay in London when she’d had Pig rather than running back home to the easy bosom of the Busby clan.

She’d hardly been subtle either. When Pig had been born Eileen had camped in the living room for the first two months, making progressively less and less veiled suggestions that her child and grandchild would fare far better closer to home. By the time Pig was approaching her third month Patsy had put her foot down and Eileen had been gently but firmly pushed out of the door.

It was an old wound, a festering thing that couldn’t be easily repaired and, though none of them ever voiced it; it was very clear to Patsy at least that Eileen laid the blame very firmly at her feet. The English devil woman who stole her Delia away.

Nowadays Eileen only came to stay three times a year and without fail every time it was two weeks of stress and unrelenting house cleaning. Patsy, who liked the house tidy, didn’t exactly mind this schedule considering that Delias usual idea of housework stopped at throwing the hoover around sporadically, however, she did very much mind the pressure Eileen always exerted on her daughter.

The unspoken resentment was so loud sometimes that it left a nasty feeling in the house for weeks after Eileen had gone. Delia tended to talk less, her mood glum.

Still. Pig would be excited. Eileen’s surly attitude rarely ever straying as far as Pigs experience.

Tea made, Patsy idled at the small table near the window, flicking through her phone and wondering hesitantly if she should splurge on a takeaway for them tonight.

Less washing up and they could turn in early which would be nice... Very nice actually. Her stomach tightened at the prospect, her mind unspooling out as she considered the hearty merits of stretching out on a cool bed.

Delia had her afternoon shift booked as usual when Pig was at her dads but she’d be home in an hour or so and Pig wasn’t due home until tomorrow after school.

They had a free evening at last. It had been far too long.

It came as a bit of a surprise therefore when the front door banged open a mere half an hour later and Pig strolled through the kitchen door. Casually destroying all of Patsys half made plans in a single sweep.

Pig was six, nearly seven if you asked her about it and happened to actually be named Enfys, although everyone pretty much called her Pig much to Eileen’s ultimate displeasure and Patsys private glee. Patsy had started the name early, on the first day that Delia had brought her home from the hospital in fact. At only a few hours old Patsy had taken over, tactfully letting Delia take a well earned nap before monsoon Eileen beamed down on them. The baby had been a hungry one, the little squirming mass of pink blankets and swollen face squabbling at Patsy for milk at the top of her tiny lungs. Patsy had been smitten at once and proudly called the baby; ‘her little piglet’. The nickname had stuck unfortunately, in that awkward way that family nicknames sometimes do.

Pig was short for her age, a clear Busby characteristic that Patsy found ever so slightly amusing. She’d never be a netball player that was for sure.

She had her mothers hair and colouring; all dark browns and bright blues, not so much a carbon copy but rather a very good replica with tiny obvious differences. Her nose was longer, her chin just slightly more rounded and she’d inherited her fathers large feet and hands. Max didn’t feature too heavily otherwise thankfully; his genes only showing up mainly in the odd expression, a smirk or a guilty flash of conscience.

The girl wasn’t smirking now though. Pigs face was red and blotchy actually, Busby blue eyes strictly glued to the floor. Her bottom lip wobbling dangerously like it had done when she was a toddler and they’d gone through the agony of potty training.

Frowning, Patsy glanced at the clock on the wall her heart sinking. Half seven? Well, that was a new record. Max hadn’t even made 24 hours this time.

Annoyingly she didn’t even need to ask what had happened. Max was nothing if not consistent and Pigs face said it all too.

Disappointed and hurt with a sprinkling of confusion as to why this always happened. Not yet old enough to know that this wasn’t her fault. The needless guilt and pain was one of the worst things about parenting with Max.

Not looking up Pig dragged out her chair from the table without even saying hello, folded her arms on the table top and promptly jammed his her face from view. Patsy watched the girl sniff for a few seconds and then cleared her throat loudly. Pointedly intruding.

Pig didn’t move.

Patsy leaned back, frowning and then reached out to nudge Pigs shoulder with her index finger. Still, Pig didn’t respond.

Well, this was a bad case then.

Patsy sighed. “Okay, is this a one or two?” She asked the hunched figure.

A pause and then a small hand slithered out of the mass of limbs and raised three shaky fingers into the air.

Patsy raised her eyebrows at that. A three? God, she’d like to slap Max sometimes. The man was more nuisance than an actual father. None of them needed him.

Without another word Patsy got up, flicked the kettle on again, reached into the cupboard and pulled out the packet of emergency marshmallows from the top shelf that neither Delia or Pig could reach. The. She retrieved Pigs special mug.

Reverently, she put three large marshmallows into the mug leaving very little room for anything else and poured hot chocolate power and hot water into the cup after it. Mission accomplished however simple the gesture might be she looked back to at the unspeaking figure still bent at the table and hesitated. Sighing Patsy reached for the fridge door and the emergency bottle of squirty cream too.

This was technically overkill but Pig would definitely appreciate the extra mile.

Two minutes later and Patsy deposited the gooey, creamy mess onto the table just in front of Pigs head and counted to ten silently in her head. She reached a full five before Pigs hand finally reached out and gripped the handle of her mug.

Reid washing through her that she hadn’t reached a ten this time Patsy leaned on her elbows to watch. A ten might have meant this was not something a hot chocolate couldn’t solve. So far, that had never happened before.

“You’re going to have to actually lift your head up for that one sweetheart.’ Patsy advised quietly, wincing only slightly at the already hardening blobs of marshmallow sloshing over the edge of the cup. ‘Your mam will kill me if you get marshmallows in your hair again.” No one wanted a repeat of the chewing gum incident of 2015.

Grumbling only slightly, but to Patsys continuing relief, Pig did as she was told. Patsy watched the girl take a few fairy sips and then gave in, her hands itching to try and smooth away the hurt she knelt down so that the two of them were at eye level. Pigs blue eyes were still rather red around the edges and Patsys heart growled at the stupidity of the girls father.

“Come on,’ Patsy offered, opening her arms up for a hug, ‘get over here, you know you want to.”

Thankfully Pig did want to.

Patsy braced herself as Pig flung herself into Patsys open arms and stood up, letting Pigs legs flutter down around her hip as she rocked her.

“He doesn’t mean it,’ she soothed uselessly into Pigs hair, ‘what did he have to do this time?”

Because Max always had a reason for dropping Pig. From day one he’d had his excuses sorted. Must of got them from a book. The dummies guide for irresponsible parenting. Chapter three: how to make your kid feel crap at all times. Right after abandonment and not paying child support.

“He said his girlfriend had a job interview,’ Pig sniffled into Patsys shoulder, probably rubbing cream and marshmallow into Patsys uniform with every word. ‘He said he didn’t want to but he had a responsibility.”

Patsys jaw clenched, biting back the thousand and one replies she could make to that statement. No matter how much she’d like to lose her temper she was always careful not to say anything bad against Max to Pig, Delia didn’t either, both wordlessly deciding to let Pig make her own decision when it came to her dad.

“He said we were going to go to the British Museum to see the penguins tomorrow. He promised.” Pigs shoulders slumped even more at that. Max never kept his promises but she’d been excited, talking about it for weeks.

Patsy sighed and sat in Pigs vacated seat, shuffling the girl onto her lap without letting her go. Forcing a smile she wiped her thumb under Pigs eyes.

“I thought you didn’t like penguins since you found out they weren’t actually wearing tuxedos?” Patsy mentally winced at the memory of a three hour meltdown, the tears Pig had shed when making this revelation. David Attenborough was currently not being played on the television for this reason alone.

Patsy highly doubted they’d be able to tell Pig the gazelle was just having a nap in the lions mouth forever. If the penguin saga had taught her anything it was that they’d probably need shares in Kleenex when Pig worked out the circle of life.

Pigs bottom lip wobbled, a distinctly sad female Busby trait that Patsy was powerless to ignore.  
“Dad said they really are tuxedos, he knows a man who makes them and that the telly man was wrong. I... I wanted to see the penguins Pats.”

To Patsys credit she managed almost ten seconds before giving into the need to make Pig smile. “Okay, then we’ll go. I’ll take you next weekend if you like? We can see if your mams working and if she isn’t we can all go? How about that? And you can tell your dad all about it next time you stay at his.” Patsy couldn’t quite stop the trace of bitterness in her voice in that last bit but Pig didn’t seem to notice.

She was smiling again which was all Patsy really cared about. “Can we really?” She asked, all sadness momentarily vanished.

“As long as your mam says it is then I don’t mind. Where is she anyway?”

It was the wrong thing to ask, Pig instantly deflated in Patsys lap, chewing her lip pensively.

“She’s talking to dad on the phone I think. She told me to come in here and ask you about tea? Can we have omelettes?”

Patsy nodded distractedly, not actually sure that she had any eggs to make an omelette with and left Pig slurping at her drink, momentarily appeased, to go and find Delia.

Delia, unsurprisingly, was in the middle of a right royal blazing but above all whispered row in the living room when Patsy found her.

“-You can’t keep doing this! You’re her dad Max, you can’t let her down every time she comes to you! You’ve cancelled the last three weekends you were supposed to have her and every time I’m the one left to clean up the aftermath. Don’t you understand that she has feelings? Don’t you get that?”

Patsy waved her hand in lew of greeting and slumped against the wall, her arms folded rigidly as she waited for Delia to end the call. There was a vein pulsing in Delias forehead and she looked like she wanted to cry. Patsy distracted herself from her own irritation by imagining just how nice it might be; throttling Max.

“One more chance.’ Delia intoned coldly into the phone, ‘that’s all I’m giving you. If you don’t show up the weekend after next then I’m cutting contact.”

Patsy inwardly shook her head at that, already knowing that Delia didn’t really mean it. The single mother thing left her guilty, Eileen Busbys constant refrain that children need two parents didn’t help either. Nor did the irritating fact that Eileen favoured Max considerably. Max always got another chance one way or another.

One of these days though Patsy was going to be the one on the other end of the line with Max. She certainly had a lot that she’d like to say the prick. Starting off with the first second she’d met him all the way up to the present.

“Well don’t come then. I’ll tell her you’ve gone away. Not that you were ever there in the first place. For Christ sake Max, when are you ever going to her it together? Patsys more of a father to our daughter than you’ve ever been and she’s my roommate.”  
Max barked something down the line at that, too quickly for Patsy to pick up. Must have been offensive though; Delia’s eyes flashed with ill repressed fury. “Well it’s not like you ever did.” She hissed as she ended the call and threw her phone on the sofa. It bounced from the force and predictably hit the floor with a crunch of glass. Delia swore.

“So I take it super dad didn’t feel like doing a whole weekend?” Patsy surmised calmly, trying not to let her own selfish frustrations expose her less than perfect nature.

Delia swore again, picking up her phone and pocketing it as she sat on the sofa heavily.  
“He’s a prick.” Delia grunted through gritted teeth.

“We already knew this.”

“He always does this.”

“To be fair he did go to her book fair last year.”

“Only because he was sleeping with the headmistresses secretary,’ Delia glared up at Patsy, offended, ‘are you really defending him right now?”

“Of course I’m not,’ Patsy snorted, sitting beside Delia and wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders, ‘but we both know how you feel. Pig needs to see her dad at least until she decides she doesn’t want to.”

“I know.” Delia grumbled resignedly, putting her head in her hands and looking uncannily like her daughter as she did it, ‘he called me at ten this morning to tell me he couldn’t have her after three. Something came up,’ she raised her hands in air quotations, her voice shifting into a passing impression of Max’s cockney accent. ‘I was on shift and they wouldn’t let me go until four. He’s been calling me every five minutes since three, twenty missed voicemails when I got out and then I had to make my way through all the traffic. Didn’t get there until nearly five and he’d left her with his sodding mum because he had a date with some girl from the office.’ Delia rubbed her face, ‘every time. Every single time. I had to have tea with his mum while Pig just about cried her eyes out. It was as much as I could do not to cry myself. He’s hurting her and she’s getting old enough to understand what it all means. I don’t want her to think there’s something wrong with her.”

Patsy couldn’t let that slide without comment. She pulled Delia more securely into her chest, rubbing her shoulder hard. “The only one whose in the wrong is him.’ Patsy said firmly. ‘Pigs got us Delia, she’s got your mum and Fred and Vi. Half the girls on my ward treat her like another niece. She’s a lovely little girl Delia and we’ll make sure she knows that she’s loved. Don’t let him upset you like this, he’s not worth it.”

Delia relaxed only a little as she cuddled her way into Patsys neck, probably rubbing her face in Pigs chocolate stains while she was there. Her breath hot on Patsys throat making the fine hairs stand on end.

“I just hate the way he picks her up and drops her again. It’s not fair.” Delia whispered quietly, sniffing.

Irresistibly Patsy was instantly reminded of Maggie. Maggie had always told her that the circus wasn’t meant to be a fair. Patsy could see her grinning as she slipped her boots off, hiding the blood stains of her work coat.

Wisely in the present Patsy didn’t say copy Maggie’s easy delivery. Delia wouldn’t be in the mood for pessimism anymore than she was in the mood for humour.

Patsy was spared finding a suitable platitude in the end just then by Pig who came into the room with a mouth sticky with chocolate. The girl smiled when she saw them linked up together and clambered onto the sofa to wrestle her way into a three way hug.

Chocolate smeers not withstanding Patsy let Delia go rather quickly, stretching her arms up as her friend murmured into her daughters hair. The vision of the two of them that close, the unbreakbale bond and the east familiarity made Patsys heart thrum. They were quite the pair. Patsys girls.

“Mam, Patsy says we can have omelettes.” Pig informed Delia brightly.

Delia glanced at Patsys, eyebrow raised. “Did you buy eggs?”

“Err, no... i wasn’t really in the mood to cook. Was thinking more of a takeaway dinner to be honest.” Patsys rather rueful smile deepened as she considered her wasted plans.

“Then we’re not having omelettes unless you’ve started laying and not told me.” Delia replies breezily although she didn’t look much less disappointed.

Patsy grinned, unabashed. “Pizza?”

Pizza was always a winner. Delia rubbed her face and yawned as Pig rushed to find the menu in the kitchen drawer. She looked tired, Max always stressed her out and she hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Patsy wasn’t sure what was keeping Delia up at night currently but hadn’t pushed. Delia would tell her eventually if something was bothering her.

Still, couldn’t hurt to help where she could.

Only hesitating for a moment, the phantom throb of her own tired feet protesting, Patsy patted Delias leg. “Why don’t you ho and have a bath? Put your feet up for a bit. I’ll sort Pig out, get dinner sorted and you can take half an hour out to clear your head before the food gets here; looks like you could do with it.” She suggested lightly, trying not to notice how warm Delia was.

Delia yawned again at that and gave Patsy a grateful look, grabbing Patsys hand before she could pull it away she squeezed their fingers together. “I won’t fight you... but are you sure? You’ve been at work too Pats?”

Patsy rolled her eyes; Delias constant need to ask if Patsy minded doing basic child care really needed to stop. They’d been doing this since Pig was born. “Because putting a film on and ordering a pizza is such a hardship. Go on, I’ll bring you up a Horlicks.”

Shaking her head Delia opened her mouth to say something, their eyes meeting for one second too long. She hadn’t let go of Patsys hand yet. On the soft sensitive expanse of her palm Patsy could read every hesitating stroke of Delias pulse.

Tired as they both were Patsy couldn’t not appreciate the soft lift of Delias lips. A smiling mouth, the bottom lip always protruding out further than to the top. This close up Patsy found that she couldn’t look away from them.

Then Delia looked down, letting the moment slip away abruptly as she retrieved her hand.

It shouldn’t feel like so much of a rejection to Patsy but it did.

“You’re a good friend Pats, don’t know what we’d do without you.” Delia said to the door, her voice slightly raspy.

Patsy bit her lip but tried to make a joke, the air between them uncomfortably thick. “My birthdays coming up, buy me something pretty?”

Delia laughed although it sounded forced and left the room to climb the stairs quickly. Patsy listened to the familiar creaks, her toes wiggling against the floor for something to feel and closed her eyes. Mastering herself.

Jesus. Why not just hire a fucking blimp?

By the time the bath water could be heard running Pig had returned bringing the menu with her. Patsy ordered distractedly as the girl faffed about digging through the small library of DVDs under the television.

Patsy didn’t know why she bothered; Pig only chose one film at the moment so there was never much choice going on. Obsessed wasn’t even the word.

Unsurprisingly, the faint tune of how do you solve a problem like Maria was soon wafting out of the living room like a threat. Patsy ended the call with Paul the pizza mans promise of a delivery within forty five minutes to an hour and went to sit with Pig on the sofa for the first twenty minutes, humming along to the songs while Pig spread out her fleecy blanket and made herself comfortable using Patsys stomach as an arm rest. Patsy winced at the intrusion of knees and elbows but didn’t complain. Pig was getting older now and one day soon she’d be too old for cuddles.

Just the thought left her feeling slightly bereft and unwilling to let it happen Patsy wrapped her arms more tightly around Pig.

By the time the baron was barking orders at Maria Pig was properly zoned in and Patsy was barely acknowledged as she finally left to make Delias drink and get plates out from the cupboard.

On the kitchen counter top was three Kilner jars. Horlicks for Delia. Hot chocolate for Pig. Coffee for Patsy. Patsy smiled, turning the jars labels face forward and lined them up more nearly beside the kettle as she made Delias drink and dried the spoon.

Their bathroom was cramped and ageing. Patsy had never properly finished peeling off the old peach wallpaper when she’d first bought the place with Maggie and the plaster board underneath still peaked out at her as she opened the door. She really should get back to it at some point.

After Maggie died though she’d rather lost interest in home improvements.

Delia was in the bath, the frog shaped waterproof radio bought for Pig but used by them mainly was singing pop songs through a static fuzz. The mirror above the sink was covered in mist, as was most of the room, Patsy could barely see herself. The air felt damp and hot.

“You’re going to have a heart attack one of these days.’ Patsy complained habitually, always on edge at these moments as an image of Maggie flashed before her. In the present she neatly ensured that her eyes were averted as she passed Delia her mug, ‘I bet that waters boiling.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a hot bath Pats.” Delia argued back, she was smiling though.

Patsy could hear it in her voice even if the only thing she would let herself look at was the worrying cracks in the ceiling. Needed to do something about them too. These terraced houses were nice but they were a bugger for subsidence.

“Tell that to Whitney.” Patsy told her ceiling darkly, Maggie’s face looming again.

There was the sound of water, drops falling from skin and then a hand was squeezing Patsys thigh.

Patsy grinned up at the ceiling, unable to prevent it as Delias fingers fount the ticklish spot under her knee.

“You worry too much.” Delia hummed happily, her hands tugging at Patsys for attention.

Giving in, Patsy looked down into Delias face trying very hard to keep her expression platonic. She was beautiful when she was smiling Patsy had always thought and the bath seemed to have done the trick; she didn’t look quite as miserable now which was what Patsy had wanted.

Delia’s hand was boiling though, the water predictably hot after all. “You don’t always have to be such a gentleman you know,’ Delia advises dryly, ‘we do live together. It’s not like the world will end if you see me in the bath Pats.”

Delias words were light enough but it made Patsys face freeze. She’d leave a damp patch on Patsys trousers from all the water if they stayed like this.

Patsy told herself sternly to not look any lower than Delias neck. Shame she was a pushover when it came to self control. Slowly, face burning Patsys eyes travelled down. And further down.

Delia raised her eyebrows. A silent challenge that forced Patsy to take in a slow, deep breath.

“Thanks. For the Horlicks.” Delia said lightly, a trace of smugness evident as she removed her hand reluctantly to grip the mug she’d balanced on the side of the bath and tilt it in a toast.

Patsy could only nod mutely, her brain gone as she tried to swallow. It was only when Delia licked her lips that she decided she needed to get out of here.

Or explode which was another option.

“I should... Pigs watching the sound of music again.” She didn’t know what to say. She felt too hot from the steam and tongue tied from who knew what else. This sort of thing was becoming too frequent between them these days. Surely people didn’t do this with friends?

There were rules in place and they shouldn’t be doing this.

Delia opened her mouth to answer, her face flickering into seriousness as though she wanted to say something too.

But she never did.

Neither of them ever did.

From downstairs the doorbell chimed and at the noise Patsy got to her feet hurriedly, wiping her hand across her trousers to try and dry the dampness somehow.

“I’ll... I’ll get the food then?”

Patsy didn’t wait for an answer, already racing out of the room and barrelling around Pig who had wandered into the hall to get the door.

Saved by the bell wasn’t even the word for it really.


	2. Palpitations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Palpitations   
> Noun
> 
> A noticeably rapid, strong, or irregular heartbeat due to agitation, exertion, or illness.

The pizza was everything it should be. Cheesy grease with too thick crust.

Pig managed a healthy three slices to herself before admitting defeat. After a few pointed encouragements from Patsy, she thoroughly washed her face and then lay back down under her blanket to finish watching her film. To her credit Patsy managed two slices and would have probably eaten more if Delia hadn’t been home. Since she was, she left the box on the coffee table and stretched out besides Pig. Less full than she could have been but lethargic none the less. 

Her feet still hurt and her legs were throbbing in a sympathetic background way but it was easier to ignore them laying here like this.

Trixie would be disgusted if she said so but Patsy was actually seriously considering borrowing a pair of Delias compressions socks. The accumulated years on her feet were starting to catch up with her. 

Getting old she thought amused.

The socks might not be sexy but at least it would stop any varicose veins from starting and Delia happened to be rather fond of Patsys legs. It would be a shame to lose such a useful tool considering that Delias own arsenal simply required Patsy to be close enough to see her before internally combusting. 

When Delia walked in twenty minutes later, pink faced and hair finger combed out she was forced to sit at the end of the sofa with Patsys feet in her lap. Pig had resolutely tucked herself under Patsys arm, her sharp nails scratching Patsys wrist as the eldest daughter started singing about her age with the nazi.

Patsy stroked her hair vaguely, the round shape of Pigs head rather getting in the way of actually seeing the film while her attention was focused entirely on the woman seated at the other end of the sofa. 

Delia was balancing the pizza box on Patsys ankles when Patsy looked at her. She’d put on the blue dressing gown Patsy had got her for Christmas last year. The belt had been tied only loosely and through the wider than usual gap at the top Patsys could see the faint hint of skin. Delia seemed to sense Patsys attention because she caught Patsys eye just then winked. Then, causally, as though she was just merely stretching Delia sat a little straighter in her seat, the dressing gown spilling open even more.

Patsy felt her face burn firey hot and she was acutely aware of Pig laying next to her.

Delia was wearing an old pair of Patsys pyjamas. Blue button up shirt and bottoms to match the dressing gown with darker horizontal stripes. Patsy hadn’t seen the pair for quite a while but she could remember when she’d last worn them. 

When she’d worn them though she’d done the top three buttons up. Delia, it seemed, was not so constrained. There was quite a lot of cleavage on show.

Raising the pizza to her mouth, looking rather pleased with herself Delia smirked across the space between them, as if she could read Patsys thoughts. As if she could see what Patsy could see.

Patsy looked away, back at the television and tried to distract herself by counting all the white pillars in the green house that the actors were dancing around in. The pair were throwing themselves onto benches, jumping from one to the other. 

Jolted Patsy felt a pang of annoyance at that, she shuddered to think how much cleaning the background team would have had to do to get the would clean again after several rounds of boots had stomped all over them.

There really was no need for dirt.

By the time they were done singing and Liesl was drenched and happy Delia had inhaled the rest of the pizza and was putting the empty pizza box on the floor. At any other time Patsy would have moaned about that, grease stains were a nightmare to get out of the carpet, but when she turned her head to do just that Delia was bending forward. Patsys mouth went dry. She caught a single flash of much more than cleavage and decided to leave grease stain arguments for the moment.

She wondered if Delia was doing this on purpose and then scolded herself. Delia was allowed to be comfortable in her own home. She was acting like a leering teenager.

She relaxed a little bit when she felt Delia sit back, pulling the dressing gown a little more tightly around herself and settling her hands over Patsys feet. The warmth was soothing at least, Pig wriggling against her arms a familiar tug of home. Delia’s hands were moving over her feet, rubbing her ankles in slow lazy circles. It felt hypnotically good. Against her will Patsys eyes grew heavier and heavier, the muscles of her neck loosening where they rested against the sofa arm. The food had left her inert, the sofa was too deep and the background soundtrack seemed to be moving further and further away.

When Patsy was aware of herself again warm fingers were stroking her forehead not her ankles. The music had stopped and her eyes were either  
closed or the house had gone through a tunnel. 

Complete control of her body felt tenuous, her limbs achingly heavy as she leaned automatically into the hand.

“Pats?”

“Hmm.’ Patsy opened her eyes slowly, aware that she’d fallen asleep and smiled when she registered Delia standing over her. Delias eyes were soft when they met her own, her mouth turned up at the corners affectionately. 

“Did I snore?” Patsy enquired, her voice gravely with sleep.

Delia grinned, her own voice quiet, “Oh? Was that supposed to be snoring? I thought you’d moved in a wounded hippo without telling me.”

Patsy snorted in response. Pig was still shuffled up against her side, fast asleep and quite happily snuggled into Patsys chest. The television had been muted, the dvds home screen playing a mountain top scene in a never ending loop. Delia had switched off the main light but left on the lamp; the room was a wash of gold streaks and shadows.

It must be late but Patsy had no idea how long she’d been asleep. From the crick in her neck it had been long enough.

Patsy glanced down at Pigs pale sleeping face and shifted clumsily to pluck away a stray strand of hair that had stuck to the corner of her mouth. She tended to drool when she slept too deeply; another charming trait that Delia would swear blind she didn’t inherit from her and Patsy wisely chose not to disagree with. Patsy rubbed her eyes and blinked down at the little fingers gripping her t-shirt. Pig always looked younger when she was asleep; more like the toddler who’d nudged her way into Patsys bed when Delia was having a lie in than the six year old that now came home with homework and nits.

“I can take her up if you want?” Patsy offered half heartedly. Truth be told the sofa still felt very comfortable right now and a part of her would have gladly fallen back asleep. Mind you, if Pig went to bed she’d lose her portable hot water bottle so she wouldn’t stay here long on her own.

Delia must have read her mind because she shook her head, stalling momentarily to stroke Patsys cheek when Patsy moved to get up again in wordless decline. Still smiling faintly she bent down to scoop her daughter easily up into her arms.

Patsy watched the two of them go and then lay back down quietly, listening to the creak of the stairs and Pigs tired complaints as she was roused long enough for Delia to help her into pyjamas and make her brush her teeth.

Almost without being aware of it; Patsy stroked her cheek, found the hot curve of her skin and traced the path that Delia had made. Despite being warm Patsy shivered and let her hand drop onto the sofa.

This was all too close to being something real. Too sweet.

After a while Patsy sat up and stretched her arms over head with a yawn, trying to shake away the fatigue from her stiff muscles, trying not to think too hard about things that she shouldn’t. 

Cigarette; her thoughts were muzzy but addiction was stronger than most things. Patsys self restraint was not particularly legendary.

Patsy was stood by the open back door, smoking ponderously as she stared out into the garden when the sound of Delia coming back downstairs carried through the house twenty minutes later.

The garden was a solid square of colour in the day; a testament to Fred’s generosity more than anything they’d done. In the summer the flowers vied for top position, their stems and petals fluttering against the breeze. Rogue strawberry plants that had started life as only two sprigs had long since colonised the right flower bed where Maggie had had her grand plans for a fruit and veg patch. Flares of orange nasturtiums grew up the old carcass of the green house. The wood of the frames was grey now, the night pallets of silver, blue and greys staining the world darker.

“Is this from my mam?” Delia had walked into the kitchen and picked up the postcard Patsy had carelessly pinned to the fridge on her way into the house earlier. Her dressing gown waving over the floor as she spun.

Patsy raised her eyebrows, the corner of her mouth turning up as she sucked in a lung-full of smoke. 

“Yeah, sorry, I must have forgotten with everything. She says she’ll be coming in the next couple of weeks.’ She cast a sly glance towards Delia who was frowning, still reading the short message on the back of the card. ‘I thought it must be from Eileen; all the mice were throwing themselves into the mousetraps along the street as I picked it up.”

Delia tutted at that automatically, tucking the card back on the fridge, but even family pride couldn’t stop the grin when their eyes met.

“She is my mother Patsy.” Delia tried to scold.

Patsy shrugged, fully aware that Delia didn’t really mind. “Believe me when I say that I know that, but don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you. I assume you’ll ring and find out when she’s planning on dropping in from the Death Star?”

Delia rolled her eyes at this and strolled over to poke at Patsys ribs. “Stop it. I hope you don’t talk like that around Pig, my mam will go spare if she hears her saying any of that sort of stuff.”

“Lips are sealed, you know me, subtlety is my byword.” As she said that Patsy snagged Delia’s waist and pulled her closer, until she could feel the fluffy robe against her chest, smell the sweet smell of their shampoo in Delias hair as she blew out a stream of smoke.

Delia laughed and lay her head on Patsy shoulder, the cool air from outside making them both shiver.

“I’ll give her my room when she comes, Pig will love it, do you mind if I share with you?”

Patsy pursed her lips, trying not to smirk at the images that statement suggested even though she knew full well that the reality would be nowhere near as fun. Eileen had very good hearing apparently; not that they’d ever tested the theory.

“I suppose we can all squeeze in. It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

Patsy was vaguely aware that Delias hand was holding her bum. Not particularly tight but nonetheless it was present. Patsy hesitated, uncertain if Delia was doing any of this on purpose and opened her mouth to say something.

Delia got there first. “One of these days you’re going to have to quit those things, there’s a yellow patch on the ceiling from all your fags.” Removing her hand she smacked Patsys wrist lightly, sprinkling ash onto the kitchen floor.

Patsy blinked, pulled out of her focus and then looked up at the ceiling guiltily. There was indeed a yellowing tinge above their heads. She grimaced, aware that Delia was right but not about to admit it. As casually as she could manage Patsy flicked the remaining smoking butt into the night, telling herself it was because she’d chosen to and not because Delia had told her to.

Wasn’t like they were married or something.

Delia didn’t move away when she felt Patsy move, the two of them standing quietly in the doorway, swaying to nothing much in particular.

“It’s cold.’ Patsy pointed out eventually, her fingers tracing Delia’s wrist and finding the flesh chilly. ‘And it’s late. We should probably go to bed.” And we should probably not be hugging in doorways she added to herself. A pointless prompt given the fact that she couldn’t seem to let Delia go.

“In a minute.’ Delia’s voice was lazy, muffled where her face was covered by Patsys chest. ‘You’re warm enough.”

“Just warm enough?” Patsy teased, pretending to shiver.

Delia stepped in a little closer and their fingers found one another, linking up automatically, Delia’s thumb turning small circles against Patsys knuckles. Patsy stiffened, aware that they were pushing one or two limits at the moment and not sure how to address it. Or if she wanted to.

It was hard to know anymore. Everything was becoming too blurred.

“Pig said that you told her we were all going to the natural history museum next weekend?” Delia’s statement was phrased as both a question and an unspoken criticism.

Patsy rested her chin on Delia’s head and sighed wearily; already knowing what Delia was about to say.

“It was only a suggestion, Max promised her and I hate it when he lets her down, that’s all.” And Patsy had a right to make decisions about Pig too. She wasn’t her mother but she was as good as. She’d raised the girl since she was born. She’d done the night feeds, she’d made the costumes for the school plays, she’d gone to the parents evenings with Delia. Just because she didn’t have the title didn’t mean she wasn’t important.

“Pats,’ Delia shook her head, the point of her nose making a line of sensation where it touched, ‘you can’t keep trying to outdo him, where will it end?”

“I wasn’t trying to out do him, I just don’t see why she should miss out because her dads a wanker. Besides,’ Patsy felt her face grow hot, embarrassed at how much she liked her own thoughts, ‘I thought it would be nice. All three of us having a day out, it’s been a while since we’ve done that. You know Pig would love it.”

Delia didn’t say anything to that straight away, although her grip tightened for a moment. “I’ve got a half day booked for next Saturday, Rob will go mad if I cancel.”

“You’ll be giving them a weeks notice,’ Patsys argued with the air above Delia’s head. ‘It’s not even like you have to do the extra shifts.” Not like Patsy ever expected or needed her to.

“Pats.” Delia warned quietly.

“Well it isn’t.’ Patsy went on irritably. ‘I told you, I don’t need you to pay me anything, this is your home as much as it’s mine, I don’t need rent and you pay your way with getting shopping. We already halve all the bills. I don’t need anything else from you.” As it was, the money Delia did give her was being funnelled into a saving account for Pig when she reached 18. Patsy had very carefully not told this to Delia yet though; the argument wasn’t worth it.

“But I have to pay you something.’ Delia replied tightly, ‘I can’t live here rent free. People will think we’re taking advantage of you.”

“What people?” Patsy scoffed, frustrated. They’d had this argument too many times.

“People who talk, that’s who.’ Delia snapped tersely, ‘you’ve been more than generous and-“

“-Generous?’ Patsy leaned back so that Delia had to look at her scandalised face. ‘We’re friends aren’t we? We help each other out. I didn’t give you a room because I wanted money.”

Delia bit her lip. “There has to be some sort of rules Pats.” Again. Another question. Almost.

Patsy bit the inside of her cheek. Rules. She hated all of their stupid rules. The anger made her face flush, her heart beating harder in her chest. She was ashamed when she looked away, her eyes burning with frustration.

“I just thought it would be nice, that’s all.” Patsy mumbled bitterly.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t nice.’ Delia surprised Patsy when she stepped closer again, pushing Patsy into the wall as she crowded in. ‘I just think you do too much for us. I’m worried one day you’ll get sick of it and tell us to go. Is it that wrong to want a balance?”

Patsy rolled her eyes, still sulking a bit until Delia laughed and butted her head into Patsys shoulder.

“Stop being grumpy, we’ll go if it makes you that unhappy. Just don’t throw it in my face when you kick us to the curb.” Delia softened her words but the frown between her eyebrows didn’t disappear.

As if that would ever happen. Totally ludicrous. 

Patsy would have offered to put Delia on the mortgage a long time ago for peace of mind if she thought for one second that Delia would accept it.

Patsys lips twisted, annoyance making her sarcastic. “I’ll grow a long handlebar moustache to twirl when I watch you and Pig stumble down the street with a handkerchief on a stick holding all of your belongings shall I?”

Delia laughed, the tension easing ever so slightly and swatted Patsys arm. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Well don’t make stupid statements and assumptions about it then.” Patsy replied, still a little stiff.

“Pats.’ Delia was watching Patsy very closely, her expression softer. ‘You mean so much to us; you know that right? Pig loves you. And I... I don’t know what I’d be if we hadn’t met.”

Patsy shuffled, her face hot again but anger wasn’t the cause anymore. Delia was holding the edge of her scrub top, her thumb stroking distractingly against her stomach. The way Delia was watching her right now... Patsy felt like she was coming out of her skin. Every atom poised to mirror Delias position.

So maybe Delia did know what she was doing then. Maybe it was just Patsy as usual. Wanting more than she had a right to have.

Clearing her throat to get it working properly Patsy raised her eyebrow and gazed down at Delia quizzically.

“Pigs upstairs Delia.”

There. She’d said it. They were breaking all sorts of rules right now, the bathroom earlier was one thing but if Delia kept leaning on her like this then Patsy would have to do something about it. Rules be dammed.

Delias answering smile was almost predatory when it came and it was doing nothing to help matters. As though she knew exactly what Patsy was thinking as usual Delia tilted her face calmly and pressed her thumb higher.

“I know that Pats, she’s fast asleep.” Delia replied innocently.

But she was in the house and that would be a first.  
And Delia wasn’t moving back, or moving her hands away.

Patsy narrowed her eyes, aware that some sort of challenge was being laid down and allowed her free hand to wander down and tug at the soft baby tuft of hair that never grew out at the nape of Delia neck.

Delias breathing changed at that, not by much admittedly, but enough that they both heard it. She didn’t say anything though, not a warning or an encouragement and Patsy decided to take the risk and push a little bit more. Just to see if Delia really wanted to go somewhere with this.

Bringing her head lower Patsy pressed her mouth close enough to feel the skin behind Delias ear. A sensitive spot she’d worked out a few years ago. It had never let her down yet.

This time Delia jolted, her hand moving to grip Patsys hip as if steadying herself, except they both knew she didn’t need it, they were cramped in so tightly together that Patsy would have caught her if she fell.

“The bath was pushing things a bit, don’t you think?” Patsy asked into the silence, slightly proud of the way she could make Delia squirm with barely anything.

Delias fingers were digging into Patsys hip now, almost painfully.

“You offered to bring the drink up.” Delia hummed back, turning her face away to give Patsy more access to her neck.

Patsy muffled her laugh against Delias throat as she let her lips explore the beating point of an artery and scraped her teeth where it pulsed hardest. “I was being companionable.”

Delia made a deep sort of grumble and twisted, her mouth seeking Patsys for a searing kiss that Patsy would never refuse her.

At the back Patsys mind she was vaguely aware that she shouldn’t be doing this. They shouldn’t be doing this. Not out in the open; Pig could come downstairs any minute and see them. They’d specifically designed the rules to keep that from happening. They’d meant for it to be separate. 

No strings.

That was the problem with rules though, Patsy thought dreamily as Delia’s fingers wound around her hair setting her scalp tingling, they were things made to be broken.

Blearily Patsy realised that she was backing them towards the kitchen table and bending to lift Delia up. Delia’s mouth jolted as her legs touched the solid surface of the table, her chin moving as she let Patsy push her to sit so that she could insinuate her way between Delia’s legs.

Something was pounding in Patsys ears. Right now she didn’t care about rules. She’d been riled up since Delia’s impromptu bath conversation and she wasn’t at all interested in anything except finding out how quickly the rest of the buttons on Delia’s pyjamas could be undone.

However long it was, it was already too bloody long.

Delia’s hand had deftly managed to pull the knot of Patsys scrubs undone and was tugging at them impatiently. Patsy was aware that she needed to breathe soon, her head felt fuzzy but she didn’t want to stop kissing Delia. It was a conundrum she didn’t care about solving.

Delia’s dressing gown was cast off indifferently as Delia pulled at Patsys bottoms, sliding them over the curve of Patsys bum, dragging her in closer.

“Bit eager aren’t you?” Patsy gasped, finally wrenching her mouth free to suck in air. Her legs were cold in the draft of the kitchen but Delia’s hand wasn’t. Without thinking about it Patsys hips jerked forward, sliding against Delia’s palm.

Delia was already hooking her fingers to tug at Patsys knickers.

Patsy wavered for a moment, aware that this was going too far, too quickly. Aware that they were making noise. They were being precisely what they’d sworn they weren’t going to be. Stupid.

With no small amount of regret and a fair share of self control, Patsy grabbed Delia’s wrist, trying to cut through the fact that they were both acting like teenagers. 

“Pigs still upstairs Delia.” She warned again, a little firmer this time.

Delia groaned, she actually groaned, her head bouncing on Patsys shoulder heavily. She looked so suddenly miserable that Patsy would have laughed if the woman didn’t look like she’d eat her alive if she did.

“It’s been two months Pats.’ Delia hissed through gritted teeth, her voice shaking, ‘she’s fast asleep, she won’t even know what’s happening and it’s my God damn Sunday night too. Just because Max can’t do his job doesn’t mean we should keep skipping our plans.”

Patsys lips quivered and she had to bite down hard on her tongue to force back the cocky grin that was trying to force its way into existence. Sometimes it was rather nice to know that Delia enjoyed their little arrangement just as much as she did. More than nice actually.

“I just think that we should be careful that’s all.’ Patsy sighed, rubbing her hands up and down Delia’s thighs unconsciously, ‘better be to be safe than sorry and we did agree-“

“-Fine!” Delia interrupted angrily, shoving at Patsys chest for her to move and shuffling off the table edge until her feet hit the floor again. ‘If you don’t want to then we don’t have to, it was only a suggestion.”

A suggestion? Patsy rolled her eyes in bemusement, watching Delia pick up her dressing gown a little awkwardly. The buttons of her shirt were still undone. She really was adorable, confusing sometimes, but adorable.

And this was exactly why they needed the rules.  
Patsy wasn’t supposed to think Delia was adorable. They weren’t supposed to make out in the kitchen. They weren’t supposed to be doing this like this. This wasn’t what they’d agreed.

Even so, she couldn’t let them end the night in an argument. Especially since her prospects of an orgasm was preparing to stalk upstairs.

“Delia, wait.” Patsy stepped in front of Delia as she tried to slip around her. Delia wouldn’t meet her eye; probably embarrassed. Unnecessarily. If any of them was at fault then it was Patsy. 

Patsy shook her head, charmed despite herself as she cupped Delias face in both hands carefully. Delia closed her eyes when she did it, her face pink around the cheeks. Patsy thought she could feel her heart swelling up inside her chest, crushing her ribs.

Delia didn’t kiss Patsy back straight away when Patsys lips found hers. Patsy didn’t mind though, she kissed her gently, her lips coaxing, opening to nudge her tongue against Delias mouth until Delia gave in. When she did Patsy kissed her harder, finding the rhythm they’d perfected by now. She kissed Delia until the stiff line of her shoulders relaxed and Delias arms wound around her neck. 

Patsy thought, not for the first time, that she could kiss Delia for hours like this. Not leading any where exactly, just for the pleasure of holding her, for the sweetness that came with kissing just for the sake of kissing.

When Patsy pulled away Delia’s mouth followed her, unwilling to stop and Patsy couldn’t help but kiss her back. Something inside of her was burning, Delia’s kisses had a purpose and Patsys legs were starting to feel weak. After a few more false starts they did manage to break apart; Delia’s eyes were darker, the lids half shut. Patsy probably didn’t look much different. Breathlessly Patsy bumped their noses together.

“I didn’t say no, I said not here.’ Patsys voice sounded hoarse, harsher and more urgent. ‘You go up, I’ll lock the front door and I’ll meet you up there.”

There. This made sense. It was sensible. Very sensible and the right thing and-

Although Delia nodded her agreement to this after a moments pause she was already falling forward again, her mouth skirting along Patsys throat, her teeth scraping against Patsys skin in a way that made Patsy screw up her eyes as she tried to concentrate.

As much as Patsy hated Max, that one night a fortnight was useful. The fact that it hadn’t happened for the last two months hadn’t escaped Patsy either. Although she’d been prepared to wait if they had to.

Apparently, that wasn’t going to be the case though.

Delia was gripping Patsys top, trying to pull it up and over Patsys head, her face already ducking underneath to trail a line of burning kisses along Patsys stomach.

Patsys body jerked, her breathing embarrassingly ragged.

Okay, so two months had been a bit of a stretch for her too.

Delia’s face looked predatory again and Patsys head felt foggy.

“Five minutes.’ Delia said seriously, letting Patsy go with a stern nod, ‘any more and I’ll be back down here.”

Patsy didn’t trust herself to say anything. Waiting as, for the last time this evening, she waited for Delias footsteps to fade away.


	3. Confabulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confabulation  
> Noun
> 
> Psychiatric term: the replacement of a gap in a person's memory by a falsification that he or she believes to be true.

So, Patsys story went something like this.

Once upon a time- that’s how she always started the first part when talking to Pig because fairy stories had to have some sort of beginning, didn’t they? So... In this particular fairy story; Once upon a time Patsy had a wife.

In the real world Patsy hated talking about it at all. Who wanted to be a young widow? She’d usually avoid the topic when it came up, would politely refuse or half answer as many questions as she could to stop herself from having to think about just how far her life had run off from it’s neatly arranged course. 

She’d told Pig though. It had been too big a subject not to mention. Confusing and unofficial as it might be, Pig was her family; she deserved to know. It was self preservation with strangers but if she’d never told Pig about Maggie, well, then it would have almost been like she was lying, erasing Maggie’s existence somehow by ommision and Patsy had always hated liars.

Anyway; Maggie. Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. She’d been called Maggie. Her nana had called her sweet Maggie May when she’d been a kid. Her mother had called her Margaret-Beth in that staunch attitude of mothers who didn’t leaf through dozens of baby name books to not use the thing in full at every opportunity. Patsy had called her Mags if she’d been rushing out the house, calling her goodbyes carelessly over her shoulder as if she’d never have an occasion to regret the haste. Margaret if she was being annoying or if Patsy had wanted to make her scowl or to tease her into smiling ruefully. Peggy once on an impulse and that had made them both laugh, saying it over and over, adding little ad-libs each time to make the joke funnier until they hadn’t been able to breathe. Magatha occasionally if she was getting on a high horse that Patsy wanted to yank her down from before she could get stuck in on an argument. Maggie most of the time though; only Maggie. Patsy and Maggie. That’s who Patsy had been married to. Her Maggie.

Not as tall as Patsy, she’d had short dark hair and the longest legs Patsy had ever seen. Maggie used to be shy about her height, had complained that she was out of proportion with the world, that her clothes didn’t fit properly. Patsy had been fascinated by her from the very first time they’d met. Had been tongue tied and awkward and they’d nearly not started at all because Maggie had thought Patsy stand offish.

Maggie was... no, Maggie had been a police officer with the Met when Patsy had first met her by chance while on a date with one of Maggie’s colleagues who’d sweet talked Patsy into a drink after meeting Patsy over the course of a busy shift. The poor woman had rather been relegated to background scenery as soon as Maggie had arrived. 

Maggie had bought them both a drink, winking at her friend as she slid into the sticky booth of the bar and asked Patsy her name.

After that it had all been rather traditional.

They’d dated for a fair while. Patsy hadn’t been easy to pin down and she’d always said it was the chase that had really drawn Maggies interest anyway. She’d been something of a charmer before they’d met if her best mans speech had actually been true and most of Maggie’s colleagues had seemed baffled that she’d wanted to settle down at all. 

They’d bought this house just before they got married, not particularly a posh area of London but it had a bit of a garden at least and the neighbors had seemed nice. Maggie was going to grow fruit and veg, had bought gardening magazines and never read them, Patsy had been excited about wallpaper. They’d been married for just a little under two years.

They’d argued little and laughed more than they cried.

It was all terribly unfair everything considered. Two years was nothing. Two years was everything they had though.

And then Patsy didn’t have a wife anymore.

That’s as far as she ever got in the story with Pig. The words ending with stalling ellipses. Maggies face fading from view.

In the fairytale Maggie rode off into the sunset, or she ran away to become a pirate or she learned sword fighting or she killed a dragon. A happy ending of some sort anyway. Fairytales didn’t have room for death and Patsy preferred to think of Maggie as a heroine in a child’s story now, something distant but still present. Happy somewhere if not here.

Maggies death in reality had been sudden; a massive stroke from an undiagnosed heart murmur that no one could have guessed at, although a few of her police friends had blamed Patsy for not doing so in their grief. She’d been pursuing a suspect on foot.

The colleague that Patsy had met Maggie through had come and met Patsy on the ward to tell her when she’d died. 

Maggie’s hat had still been clenched in the womans hands all the while as she told Patsy in stuttering sobs what had happened. Kept repeating apologies and details like she could bring Maggie back if she kept talking while Patsys world grew narrower and narrower.

“So sorry. Pats, I’m so sorry.”

Much else that had followed immediately after that day was something of a blur. The shapes and memories made murky and numb with grief. She had been there for all of it, she knew that; the funeral, answering the sympathetic cards, cleaning the endless clinging yellow dust from dying lilys, speaking to Maggies friends when they called until they forgot to do it anymore, but nothing had seemed to stick. Maggie had simply been dead and Patsy had been left alone. The garden left to grow wild, the wallpaper left half completed, the new curtains left unopened. She hadn’t wanted to be assaulted by the sunlight.

She’d wished then that she had died with Maggie. It was grief said her father awkwardly when she’d called him to explain. It was depression said a colleague she barely knew. It was heartbreak though, just simple garden variety heartbreak. No cure in sight but time.

She hadn’t wanted any link to the outside world for the first six months. Had resented the realities of life. It had been terrible to realise that her world had stopped, ended, finished so utterly and completely and yet the world outside went on turning. Other people went on with their lives not knowing that Maggie had gone. Not caring that she wasn’t there.

Work had been amenable to her time off of course but nothing had been the same. When she returned to the department after her six months away Patsy had been different on the inside, hollow somehow. Even the job had been unable to reach her through her constant lens of sadness.

She’d been forced to move departments in the end, a year or so after Maggies death, the hurly burly stresses in the ED had all been too much, the repetitive traumas leaving her too bruised. Burned out was what her manager had called it kindly as she’d happily signed the request to move form.

That’s where she’d met Delia; her second week on male surgical they’d been crewed together with a tricky case of appendicitis. Delia had been cheerful and personable straight away, hadn’t seemed to mind or notice when Patsy was too stiff or sharp and within the day she’d worn herself a little path through Patsys defences, cutting her way through the grief. Patsy still couldn’t explain how the woman had managed it.

She had somehow made Patsy smile back, the muscles uncertain after so long being unused, she’d made her look forward to coming to work for the first time since the day Maggie died. It was like breathing after you’d been under water, like showering when you’d been sick. She’d felt human again, almost.

They’d become close friends quite quickly after that. Within a few months they’d started meeting up after work and on their days off. Phone calls in the evening and texts in the afternoon. Patsy had been more than happy to go out as a welcome third wheel to Delia and Max’s place when she was eventually invited.

Max had earned good money in stocks and shares, had never really warmed to Patsy but they’d been cordial and Delia had seemed happy, the two having met a year previously on a dating site for young professionals. He never asked Patsy if she had a partner, or about the wedding ring she’d still stubbornly worn on a chain around her neck. Max hadn’t ever appealed to Patsy personally, something about him intangibly untrustworthy even then but if Patsy had had her doubts about the strength of the relationship she hadn’t said anything to Delia.

She’d been worried she was growing bitter after Maggie. Uncomfortable in front of someone else’s happiness and unfairly resentful that her friend had found what she wouldn’t again.

Patsy had been the first person Delia had told when she’d found out she was pregnant. They’d squealed with excitement by the sluice, trying to smother their grins as they went around with the meds trolley drilling through every possible baby name they could think of. Delia had even asked if Patsy would be the Godmother.

Patsy had also been the first person Delia had told when Max walked out on her. Three months into the pregnancy he’d decided to inform Delia that he was sorry but on reflection felt that he wasn’t quite ready for fatherhood just yet. Which, Patsy had reflected privately, was a shame as fatherhood was already upon him whether he was ready for it or not. Either way he’d still left and he hadn’t ever come back.

They’d had a swanky flat near the centre of London back then, the rent astronomical for what it was and not really suitable for a baby anyway. When Max left Delia had been lumped with trying to make the insane rent all on her own. At seven months pregnancy, having worked every shift she could find, the midwives had taken one look at her elevated blood pressure and swollen ankles and sternly imposed immediate bed rest with immediate effect. Eileen had wanted her to go back to Wales. Delia had gotten behind with the rent, the landlord had been less than sympathetic about the whole situation and, as these things go, Delia had been served notice of eviction.

Patsy hadn’t even had to think about it when she’d offered her spare rooms to the cause. Who wouldn’t in that position? Besides, it was nice to have someone around and Delia had never felt intrusive.

Maggie had always wanted the little box room as a nursery. It had been one of the reasons they’d picked the house in the first place and it had been odd how little it hurt or disturbed her when Delia had first started moving furniture in there for the baby. The cot and little chest of drawers with the pastel handles standing rather lonely in the room Maggie had talked so much about. 

Patsy had forced herself not to think about it too much, had put up the curtains and ballerina wallpaper, humming loudly all the way just to keep from listening to the angry voice inside her head shouting that she was replacing Maggie.

When Delia went into labour early; five weeks early to be exact, in the kitchen after an impromptu round of cheese on toast Patsy had been there. She’d delivered Pig on the kitchen floor actually. The birth happening in one short frightening blur of screaming and blood. Pig adding her complaints to the proceedings when she was out, wrapped up in Patsys jumper, her face squashed and covered in blood and vernix. Her tiny little hands and feet kicking furiously while Delia sobbed, counting breaths to the 999 operator.

Patsy had cut the cord. Had been the first face Pig had ever seen. Had stroked the terrifyingly small face and felt the fragile bones like spun glass under her hands.

That was the moment when Patsy had decided she would retrain as a midwife. When she’d slotted her little finger into Pigs tiny pink palm and felt the girl squeeze back automatically she’d felt her life wobble and drop onto a new path. Something that had been missing ever since Maggie died had finally been found. A small circle of reason. A feeling of contentment that she would never have guessed at. There had been a kind of magic in bringing life into the world. Patsy had clung to the sensation; enjoying it more than the death that existed in general nursing.

Maggies life insurance had covered the mortgage when she died. It had been lucky really. It meant she’d been able to go back to school without panicking about the bills. Delia had taken the first year off to be with Pig and it had been nice to have someone at home when Patsy was knee deep in the essays.

And that’s how they’d gone forward. All of them together. Patsy and Maggies house slowly growing into Delia and Pigs home without any of them noticing.

They hadn’t dated. Each other or anyone else. Obviously.

Delia had been somewhat put off the dating scene after the whole Max thing, unwilling to confuse Pig and worried about a stranger trying to parent her child. Patsy, for her part, hadn’t wanted someone else intruding into her home, her life. If she was completely honest the prospect of going on a date and explaining that she was a widow was terrifying; she didn’t know what she’d hate more, indifference or sentiment. More than that she was aware that a newcomer might not like the current arrangement, might not take to Pig or Delia and in her mind it was clear that they had to come first. They were her family. 

Besides; they’d had each other for company and that had always been more than enough for her.

Strangely they didn’t actually sleep together until Pig was three although Patsy wouldn’t be being completely accurate about the facts if she said that she hadn’t ever considered it.

It was in the summer and Max had shown up for a stint as a father, insisting on once fortnightly sleepovers and arguing about his rights like he was somehow owed them. He’d actually managed to keep it going for four whole months that time though; a personal record. It had been on one of those nights when the subject had first come up.

Delia never fully settled when Pig was with Max; both of them aware that he had the parenting skills of a shark. Neither did Patsy really. They’d been playing a board game in the living room, the house phone on its cradle stationed between them just in case Max called, trying to pretend that something wasn’t missing.

There’d been an awful lot of wine. So much wine in fact that they’d eventually given up on the board game when the words they put down on the board stopped making sense and they’d ended up slumped together on the sofa.

They’d moved onto the Whiskey after that. Patsy had told Delia about the time Maggie lost a bet and she’d been made to drink ten pints on a work stag do. Patsy had been forced to shower her off and shove her into bed in disgust when she crawled home vomiting. Delia had told Patsy about a house party in Wales where she’d drank so much home made rum she’d passed out in the neighbours garage. The question of sex had come up somehow after that and they’d “compared dates” as friends do. Patsy had won by two years but they could have both earned some sort of medal for their combined celibacy efforts.

That’s when Delia suggested it, all jokingly at the time, that perhaps they’d be better off just helping each other out every now and again. Convenient, simple and they wouldn’t have to get all dressed up to do it. Wouldn’t even have to bother with doing their hair.

Eventually Patsy had laughed back, maybe a little bit nervously although she’d blamed the alcohol for that, as she recalled she’d even managed to make a bad joke and that had been the end of it. The conversation had moved on. Neither of them really believing that it would ever actually happen.

But the subject had never really dropped entirely after that either.

They’d started by mentioning it when they were on their own like a kind of dare. And then it became a habit; a private joke and an occasional flirtation. Until eventually every time Pig was out of the house the suggestion just seemed to make its way in conversation. Seemed to crowd in and poke them in the back like a rude patron in a bar. Becoming less and less of an unrealistic suggestion and more of a serious offer.

After a few months of this Patsy hadn’t been able to take the tension and finally decided to call Delias bluff. One evening when pig was asleep she had cautiously approached the subject and said that... On consideration, it wasn’t such a bad idea... If Delia wanted to that was.

She’d nearly bust a rib trying to make it sound casual; two cups had ended up in the bin where she’d been distracted and dropped them in the lead up. They’d been sitting at the dining room table. Patsy trying not to blush or look away like she was a shooter in a bad western. If she’d been less focused on breathing Patsy might have wondered over Delia’s reaction.

Delia had seemed to take it all in, sipping her Horlicks like this sort of suggestion happened all the time. For a moment she’d looked at Patsy with such an unreadable expression that Patsy had almost rushed to try and say something to save face but then she’d nodded, rather casually. Okay then.

And that had been that. 

No fan fares or big offers of sentiment or lust just something that crept up on them like a mugger in an alleyway. It wasn’t quite how romances we’re supposed to start off in any of those trashy love stories that Trixie liked to read on her breaks while avoiding carbs but it had been very like them and Patsy hadn’t bothered to hope for more. She hadn’t cared about romance since Maggie died anyway.

They hadn’t been totally foolish though. They’d made rules of course. Simple rules. Rules so obvious that they never had to mention them again. Easy things, made hurriedly. Perhaps too hurriedly.

1: Pig shouldn’t be affected in any way. This above all they both agreed with entirely. They shouldn’t do anything when she was in the house or aware, her normality shouldn’t be altered at all.  
2: No strings. They weren’t looking for a long term commitment obviously, it was just a short term solution. If either of them found someone who they actually wanted to date then the arrangement would end. No hard feelings.  
3: No pet names, no flirting and no kissing outside of the once a fortnight. They weren’t a couple.  
4: Discretion. The arrangement stayed between them. As far as other people were aware they were just roommates. No one was to be told.

They had seemed like the easiest things in the world at the time. They’d both congratulated themselves on a well made plan. Certain that it was bulletproof.

And it had worked very well. At first. Possibly better than they’d ever expected. The first time had been a bit awkward of course; nerves mostly. 

Delia rather surprisingly had confessed that she’d slept with a girl at university once but it hadn’t gone anywhere from that before she’d stuck with men so she’d been more passive than she wanted to be, letting Patsy guide the way. Patsy hadn’t slept with anyone since Maggie and she’d felt rusty. They’d been all chins, knees and thumbs. Laughing nervously and twitching when their skin touched each other like a pair of shy teenagers on their first time. 

The second time had been better, the initial awkwardness wearing off as they’d grown serious and tried to learn what worked best. The third time they’d really started to get the hang of it. Fourth and fifth was near on perfect. The next morning Patsy had laughed at the turn of her world, barely stifling a yawn with a serious case of bed head as she’d stood at the back door smoking a fag and Delia pottered about the kitchen making a well earned cup of tea.

After that, well, it was all rather bloody marvellous actually. More than marvellous. Delia was a fast learner and Patsy hadn’t realised how much she’d missed waking up with someone. Even better that it had been Delia she’d woken up to. Even better that it was Delia full stop.

It had actually been a blow when Max finally called off his fortnightly visits near to September for what he called “personal reasons” and Patsy called “Jasmine from HR”. 

Pig had been home every night from then on and they’d had to put an abrupt stop to their little arrangement; just as they’d agreed.

Really you would have thought they would have managed the disappointment better. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t expected it to happen.

Patsy had been all too aware of their promises but even so, it had been hard to look at Delia going up to bed or talking to Pig or ironing or acting out any of the thousand and one ordinary things that she did on a daily basis and not think about what they’d done. Each time had caused a twisting of want in Patsy that set her nerves on edge and left her restless and irritable. Delia, for her part, had turned quiet and pensive, their usual easiness together quite gone as evenings were spent with Delia in her bedroom rather than with Patsy when Pig went to bed. The air thick with too much of something they couldn’t confront.

They’d argued more too. The unexpected tension escaping out in petty frustrations with one another that they couldn’t really explain. It had been jarring. 

Even Pig, young as she’d been back then, had seemed to pick up on the change between them and the period had been littered with sleepless nights and unexpected tantrums as Pig struggled to understand why her parents weren’t being themselves anymore.

They’d persevered though. Fighting for normalcy amidst the tension until it eased back in again. Slipping into the old them with only minor hesitations and alterations.

It was another six months or so after that when Vi first offered to have Pig for the night. There’d been a film on at the cinema and Pig had been just about old enough to be trusted to sit through a whole movie without losing interest or wetting herself. Vi and Fred both treated Pig like an unexpected granddaughter and it hadn’t been a difficult decision for Patsy and Delia to make; all too aware that a night off would be more than welcome for everyone.

If Patsy had been worried that Delia might have decided against their bargain, or wouldn’t want to start up with her again after six months of nothing but arguments, she needn’t have bothered. Pig had barely been gone half an hour before Delia had practically dragged Patsy upstairs by her shirt five seconds after Pig wandered out the front door. They hadn’t slept at all for the next 24 hours but neither of them had complained. They’d certainly been much more relaxed when Pig returned, maxed out on sugar and happy to find her parents back to normal if a bit tired.

After that it had just become routine. Every fortnight on a Sunday they had one evening together. It became easier to balance it all with their timetable worked out neatly. Easier to be just friends and unofficial joint parents all week when Sunday nights could be counted on. The occasional seasonal extra. Birthdays.

Three years worth of routine and habit.  
Patsy shook her head, whistling quietly under her breath as she locked the front door and switched off the lights downstairs. Faintly she could hear Delia in her bedroom, the slight jostle of the bed slats as she moved around waiting for Patsy. 

Waiting for Patsy. The simple idea lit a soft glow inside her.

The noises sounded strangely tinny to her ears though and Patsy shook her head again more forcefully, trying to focus on where she was putting her feet as she walked upstairs, into the bathroom and squeezed toothpaste onto her toothbrush.

Her hand was shaking when she moved the toothbrush to her mouth though and Patsy had to take a few deep breaths to try make her limbs fall still. It didn’t quite work. She couldn’t seem to obey her own orders. Couldn’t help it. She felt unsettled.  
She wasn’t nervous about sleeping with Delia of course. She wanted to do that. The two month ban hadn’t exactly been fun for her either. It was just that it all felt different these days.

The two of them had started out as friends and they still were. Always would be after everything that they’d been through. Delia was Patsys best friend, there was no two ways about it. She was her person. They’d raised Pig together, they’d lived together for years and they’d been lovers for three. She loved her unequivocally. 

Patsy gargled and spat. Rinsed the sink and put away the toothbrush neatly in the cup along with Delia’s matching one. After she was done she held the sides of the sink hard, watching her knuckles turn white with the pressure.

When she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror she realised that she was frowning and hurriedly smoothed away the expression. Annoyed with herself.

The problem wasn’t the situation precisely. All of it worked. Had worked for so long that it didn’t feel like an agreement between friends anymore.

That was the issue.

Patsy wasn’t a stupid woman; logically she was aware that their agreement was the Swiss cheese of agreements. Holes as far as the eye could see. They were co-parenting, living together and sleeping together.

She pursed her lips as she put these ideas together, like a mathematician tussling with difficult algebra. Except that it wasn’t difficult at all. A three year old could work this out. Hell, she was surprised Pig hadn’t yet come home asking questions.

There was a name for people who did these sort of things and it wasn’t fuck buddies. Not even live in chums was going to cut it much to the verbalised moral outrage of most historians.

Relationship. Dating. Couple. They were the words.

Wasn’t this, all of this, wasn’t this a relationship?  
Patsy clicked her tongue irritably at herself. That wasn’t the right word either. Of course this was a relationship. It was a friendship but it was more than that. It was everything.

More and more the word friendship wasn’t anywhere near enough. Patsy had always loved Delia but now... Fuck. She couldn’t even frame it in a way her mind could accept. It was too big an emotion to fit into something as meaningless as a simple four letter word.

It had been easy with Maggie. They’d dated. They’d done the traditional route, followed a template that everyone understood, that came with set signposts and directions to follow. With Delia though it had all been back to front. No signposts. No anything. Just the two of them bumbling around in the dark.

They’d said no strings when they’d started sleeping together. They’d been confident that they could compartmentalise everything neatly so that their daily lives were never affected by the occasional shag. But it wasn’t like that anymore. Surely tonight was enough of a give away? Pig was here, sleeping just down the hall, they were breaking all the rules. 

They’d already broken the bloody rules. They were lying to themselves.

And how could they not break the rules?

It was near impossible once they’d got started to ever fully let it go. There had always been the occasional slip, a hand held too long, a joke that was the wrong side of flirtation or a knowing smile at the wrong time but it was constant now. More of this dissatisfying confusion than the normality they were clinging to. The world seemed to be tipping over ever so slightly every day and they were stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the simple fact that they were sliding with it into something else.

When Patsy turned to go the bathtub in the corner caught her eye. Delia had left their shampoo bottle balanced on the side, their soap still foamy in its holder under their shower head. Her towel was drying on their radiator, their washing basket half full. Their things. Their home.

She bit her lip, not sure who it was they were trying to fool anymore. They might as well make it official at some point. There’d been more than a few times recently that Patsy had wanted to say it. Just shout it really. She’d wanted to ask Delia why they couldn’t be more. It wouldn’t really change anything. Surely? Just a new word to call each other. A spare room for guests if they shared a room full time.

It should be simple.

But it wasn’t, this wasn’t just about them, there was Pig to consider. If she didn’t like the idea, and who really knew how she’d react if this all came out, then Delia might decide to move out. Patsy would let them go if it was what Pig really wanted, wouldn’t do anything to confuse the girl she considered her own, but the thought of losing her family and being left alone for a second time was crippling. 

Unimaginable torture.

Then there was the grittier question of what Delia actually wanted from all of this. They’d never exactly discussed labels and after this long Patsy couldn’t consider Delia as even nearly straight but even so... She’d chosen to be with Max first when she’d had the whole world to pick from. She’d had Max’s baby which suggested she hadn’t been adverse to the making part. And while the current situation clearly showed she wasn’t only interested in men she’d never actually expressed any interest in other woman that Patsy could recall. 

Was it really credible that what they were doing now could easily be put down to an easy temporary solution for Delia even if Patsy happened to be inconveniently female? A case of Delia simply choosing Patsy more because she was available than any real preference or deeper interest. There was nothing to say that if she ever decided it was time to date again then whoever she looked for would be female. That it would be Patsy she chose. 

That thought along with a few other niggling doubts was enough to stop Patsy admitting anything at all. Rejection was never pleasant but from Delia after so long it might destroy Patsy completely. 

Which wasn’t a huge issue... Except that it was and Patsy didn’t know how to approach it at all. The idea of Delia one day introducing a man she’d met as her boyfriend, bringing him to their house, letting him stay in her room overnight with Patsy the other side of the wall, introducing him to Pig and letting him act out all the jobs that Patsy felt were hers by right made the corners of Patsys world seem to wobble and crush into itself. More than once it had kept Patsy up at night, glaring at her ceiling and worrying.

Before all of this Patsy hadn’t realised it was possible to be jealous of someone who didn’t exist yet. Experiencing it made it no more explainable or pleasant.

And Maggie. Always there was Maggies shadow looming large in Patsys mind. This was Maggies house. If they did manage to get through the awkward revelations and make it official what did that make Patsy? Was she callous? Was she forgetting Maggie somehow? What would Maggies friends say if they heard about it? Patsy moving on and letting Maggie go.

What would Delia’s mother say? Would Max try and take Pig away if he knew for certain what they were doing? He’d certainly hated it when he’d turned up again when Pig was six months and found Delia living with Patsy. Patsy and Max’s relationship rather burning to an unspoken mutual hatred from then on.

And then even more obvious was if Delia even want to change things between them. Why should she? She had a ready made exit strategy and it would hardly change her life if she chose not complicate things now when things had worked so well for so long as they were.

Patsy didn’t know the answer to any of this and because she didn’t know the answers she didn’t ask the questions. Clinging to what felt safe when her whole world was at stake seemed a wise move but more often than not nowadays the realisation that they were stuck in limbo left a sour taste in her mouth.

Pigs door was shut when Patsy walked out of the bathroom. The salt dough sign that read “Enfys room, adults keep out” in pink glitter paint made her smile. Pausing for a moment Patsy pressed her ear against the wood, listening hard for Pigs light snores, relief making her breathe deeply when she found them and knew that they wouldn’t disturb the sleeping girl.

Delia had left her own door ajar when Patsy came to it next. The light wasn’t on but Patsy knew she wasn’t asleep. Could faintly hear her impatient foot tapping on the mattress. Still waiting.

Patsy didn’t have any reservations about stepping inside the bedroom, had no qualms about avoiding her own thoughts as she the hallway light lent her a path. A fly inching towards the blue light.

She closed the door behind her with a quiet click. 

For one second the room was pitch black, the faint shape and shadows of a full room tricking her brain into false images and then Delia turned the her lamp. The room suddenly washed gold with dim light. Patsy could make out the outline of Delia sat with her chin on her knees. Watching Patsy expectantly.

It was all so stupidly easy to walk in. To keep walking in. Not talking. Or asking.

Delia’s bedroom was a square twin of Patsys, the outside wall jutting out slightly to make way for a unused chimney breast with two alcoves either side. A wardrobe was slotted into one of the alcoves, too tall for where it was and, in Patsys opinion, disproportionately obtrusive. Patsy had suggested several times that they should buy a new one, something that didn’t set off her OCD every time she woke up staring at it but Delia always said that she liked it, so it stayed.

Delias bed was one of the few items of furniture that had come with her from Max and Delias flat when she’d first moved in. Hard wood with an ornate headboard. The mattress they’d replaced a few years ago, more due to Patsys complaints about sleeping in the hollow left by Max than anything else.

A rather awkward situation had ensued, mainly because Delia had a sadistic streak and Patsy had refused to sleep in the bed without some sort of alteration. This had created the nightmare of the of them being followed by Pig excitedly trying to jump on any surface that might bounce in the shop while Delia had smirked as she tested a few mattresses out, patting the other side slyly and trying to get Patsy to lay down too and give her opinion. Patsy had felt like a spotlight was trained on them the whole trip and hadn’t been able to meet anyone’s eye let alone the salesman as she’d paid. 

Delia still teased her for it now and the incident had created Delias private nickname; ‘ma wejen swil’. The name was only ever murmured when they were alone but it never failed to make Patsy blush. My shy girl.

When the mattress had been delivered Vi, with her unerring knack for knowing when to offer help, had stepped in to have Pig for the night; “to keep her from getting under your feet”. She’d explained brightly, tactfully ignoring Patsy choking on her morning coffee.

They’d needed it too. It had taken nearly an hour and both of them shoving to get the bloody mattress upstairs. Another fifteen minutes to get it into the room, the pair of them swearing and bouncing off the walls as they tried to bully a thousand springs to bend. Patsy had sworn never to buy another one ever ever ever again, kicking the last corner into place. Delia had agreed although Patsy wasn’t really certain she’d been listening, she’d been too preoccupied with urging Patsy to get onto the bed as soon as it had been functional. 

They hadn’t even bothered with a bottom sheet; a feat that even Maggie had never quite managed to get Patsy to do. Within a month there was the tiniest imprint of Patsy on her side of Delias mattress.  
Patsy knew that she shouldn’t feel smug about that fact but she still did. It was something to think about when she had to make the occasional small talk with Max the few times he showed up to pick up Pig a little easier. A tiny momento that she had a place with Delia however uncertainly.

“That wasn’t five minutes.” Delia pointed out peevishly, cutting through Patsys reflections, her fingertips still tapping at her knee as she raised her eyebrows towards Patsys still figure.

Patsy blinked stupidly, her chest full of that same tightness again and smiled; enjoying Delia’s obvious impatience more than she needed to. It felt nice to be wanted.

The covers were pulled up to her armpits just in case Pig came in probably but Delia’s shoulders were gratifyingly bare, the shape of her body discernible through the fabric, her hair smoothed out around her face. Automatically Patsys eyes found the small spray of freckles on Delia’s left shoulder, seeking them out from habit. Patsys liked to try and find patterns in those freckles when they had a free afternoon. She liked it when she woke up and they were the first thing she saw. She liked to kiss them when they were falling asleep, like marking a page in a book you never wanted to lose.

“I had to lock up first, didn’t I?” Patsy protested easily in a low whisper, swaggering just slightly as she made her way carefully over to her side of the bed. Manoeuvring around a rogue box of paperwork and two scatter cushions that Delia had already tossed away messily when she’d gotten into bed.

It didn’t take too long for Patsy to get to Delia but Delia clearly didn’t seem to be satisfied with the less than urgent pace because as soon as Patsy was close enough the covers were cast aside roughly so that Delia could kneel on the edge of the mattress and grab a handful of Patsys top none too gently. They both rocked at the contact.

“Oh please, take your time.’ Delia griped with feeling, her hand already travelling to the waistband of Patsys scrub bottoms and shoving them away from her hips impatiently. ‘Can’t believe you’re still wearing clothes.”

Patsy had been half expecting the move but still squealed quietly as the light scrape of Delias nails on her stomach making her twitch instinctively. “What am I?’ She gasped in mock outrage as her trousers hit the carpet with a heavy finality, ‘a piece of meat?” 

The fact that Delia was indeed naked as she was succinctly stripping her down had not escaped Patsys notice. Nor had the trickling heat washing down her spine that this realisation elicited.

It should have been embarrassing how easily Delia could make Patsy want her. Pavlovian dogs had nothing on Delia when she wanted something.

Delia only rolled her eyes, wrapping her bare arms around Patsy waist to press a pointed sucking kiss on Patsys hip, just over the pulse point. Patsy could feel the blood throb where her lips burned her as her heart stuttered and her insides clenched expectantly.

Delia’s voice when she spoke was low, the focused tones that promised she’d been planning something while Patsy had been stalling. “No Cariad, you’re the whole cow, now get your kit off and get in bed already.”

Patsys eyelids fluttered closed against her will even as her hips tilted closer to Delia’s mouth. Fuck, she loved it when Delia was like this.

It had been disconcerting at first when she’d realised how upfront Delia could be in the bedroom, always running at everything a million miles per hour. 

Initially Patsy had been worried that Delia was rushing things just to get through it, not really seeing Patsy at all but three years down the line Patsy had been forced to accept the simple fact that this was simply who Delia was. Always pushing for more, demanding haste against Patsys natural inclination to be slow and meticulous.

She didn’t mind it anymore though.

She’d never said so to Delia but the fact that Delia was always eager for these nights made her brain melt, it was a tiny reassurance that in these moments at least it wasn’t just Patsy who couldn’t hold onto her control. Delia’s excitement was a better drug than caffeine or nicotine.

A little more urgently now Patsy reached down to clumsily grab the hem of her shirt and shrugged it over her head. Delia muttered something indistinct against her skin before graciously lending a hand to the cause and sliding Patsys underwear down her legs. Patsy couldn’t help but twitch again when Delia’s mouth sucked greedily at her other hip with deliberate force almost instantly as the final cotton barrier was removed. The room felt cold but Delias mouth was a solid wall of demanding heat.

“I’ve missed you.” Patsy confided thickly, combing her fingers shakily through Delia’s hair as she felt Delia’s lips continue to suck at her skin, painting stripes with her tongue.

Delia had left her hair to air dry after her bath and the shorter strands near the nape of her neck were still fairly damp. They happily curled around Patsys fingers like old friends when she cupped the back of Delias skull, stroking her neck. Trying to be gentle when all a part of her really wanted was to pull Delia closer to where she needed her.

Delia’s reply was to wrap her arms more firmly around Patsys waist, her thumbs pressing into the dip of Patsys spine as her mouth slipped between Patsys thighs with all the singlemindedness of a woman’s who’d been sleeping solo for two months. Patsys fingers tightened their grip just enough to make Delia grumble but she couldn’t help it. Her stomach felt too full and God she meant what she’d said. She’d missed this. Delia. The closest thing to honest she ever felt nowadays were these moments when Delia was close enough to touch. Even if she never said it aloud the feelings she didn’t know how to pigeon hole could float a little more freely between them.

Belatedly aware that she might have pulled a bit too hard Patsy relaxed her grip on Delia’s hair and smoothed a hasty hand over Delia’s shoulder, over the freckles she loved in mute apology. Delia didn’t seem to mind. She was already edging forward purposefully, almost falling off the bed as she wordlessly urged Patsy to spread her legs wider with a pressing nudge of her chin.

Closing her eyes again, unable to concentrate on anything but the sensation of Delias mouth inching closer to her groin, Patsy shook her head. Trying to think. Common sense told her that they needed to be quiet tonight and Delia’s obvious plans didn’t promise that while a much more insistent but selfish internal voice tried to overwhelm the common sense until Delia had finished what she was doing right now with her tongue.

Delia’s common sense was apparently somewhere else too. She certainly didn’t seem to be worrying about the effects of what she was doing. If Patsy was being shrewd she’d almost guess that Delia would enjoy watching her squirm as she tried to be quiet. She’d long since learned that Delia preferred Patsy noisy.

But tonight they were pushing enough boundaries without throwing Pig hearing them into the mix too.

Even knowing that fact Patsy couldn’t stop the low groan that gathered in her throat, or the way her spine bent automatically when she felt Delia’s lips pressing another sucking kiss directly between her legs, her tongue spreading her labia open with a slow, authoritative swipe.

Delia’s fingers squeezed a little tighter around Patsys waist in warning. “Shhh.” She whispered sharply although the warning rather lost its edge when she laughed immediately afterwards and raced to repeat her move a second time. Slower than before.

Patsy inhaled deeply, returning her grip in Delia’s hair so she could tug the woman’s face back into view.

“That’s not fair.’ Patsy protested shakily. ‘We’ve got to be quiet.”

Pig. Reality. Rules.

The look Delia returned was probably supposed to be taken as innocent but that was a tall order to fill on any given day with those dimples and Patsy had never been easily fooled. Nonetheless Delias thumb stroked the dip at the base of Patsys spine reassuringly.

“I’ve got every faith in you Cariad. You won’t let me down.” Her smile was the downfall of angels.  
Well, the shoddy angels who let themselves get wrapped up in these sorts of shananigans anyway.

Patsys laugh was strained, all the brain cells she usually would have employed to help her had gone on holiday down south and didn’t seem inclined to return for a discussion. Even so, she wasn’t a gambler by nature. Taking a deep breath and struggling only a little to detangle herself from Delia’s strong grip Patsy straightened up and stepped back. The cold press of the wall on her shoulder blades helping her to think even if it was only for a second.

Delia’s answering noises of complaint were swiftly stifled when Patsy returned almost instantly to push Delia back onto the bed. Taken by surprise Delia didn’t fight the movement and they landed messily with Patsy on top and Delia trying to shift a leg before it snapped under the weight of a hinge joint under strain.

It was impossible not to take some advantage; Patsy was only human. Delia’s halfhearted protests turned into a choked laugh when Patsy used her partners surprise to place her own sucking kisses on Delia’s exposed and ticklish ribs. Revenge was as sweet as it was short lived but she couldn’t help it; Patsy considered it as payback for the tease in the bath earlier.

Delia had never been one to take a challenge lying down though. Patsy had only just wrapped her lips around a nipple when Delia managed to twist her legs around Patsys hips and flipped them over again. Neither of them were able to stop the quiet giggles and shrieks that spilled between clenched lips then as an inevitable play fight ensued. Both of them vying to be the one on top. Delia had more sheer strength on her side but Patsy had longer arms and leverage. A fair amount of cheating was unavoidable. Smiling kisses were passed freely and occasionally strategically as hands were clutched at, held and then released again when they each lost and gained ground while their legs fought for purchase amongst the increasingly twisted covers.

It was Delia who won in the end though. Of course.

Patsy had never been able to leave Delia disappointed in anything and the loss didn’t seem quite so bad with Delia kissing her like she was doing now. With Delias welcome weight crushing her into their unmade bed like she owned gravity. Like she owned Patsy. Like she had no intention of stopping.

No. Put like that surrender had never felt quite so inviting.

Patsy had wondered before now if it was possible for a body to drown in kisses. If kisses alone could make you punch drunk.

The feel of Delias skin, the soft roundness of her back, her thighs gripping Patsys hips was overwhelming and the two months of nothing but friendship between them felt like a lifetime. 

Ridiculous. So fucking long. 

The press of Delia’s tongue inside Patsys mouth made the world melt away. Made everything fade into nothing. It was an eclipse of reason.

Patsy could kiss her for hours like this. She had kissed her for hours like this.

And how odd that it never felt confusing like this, it all seemed to fall into place quite naturally. They made sense when they didn’t try to cram all of the logical stuff in.

But they did still need to breathe apparently.  
Delia broke away first with an ungainly pull, her breathing ragged even as she leaned forward magnetically to bump their noses together, their hot foreheads sticking carelessly as strands of hair stuck in a strange clash of colours in Patsys peripheral vision. Delias face was tense, focused, her expression hungry. As they tried to catch their breath Patsy thought that she would have admitted anything to Delia in that moment.

Would have told her anything if she’d thought Delia wanted to hear it. But she didn’t so-

“Hi.” Patsy whispered thickly, unable to think of anything better with her brain full of so many other confusing thoughts. Delia’s hand was cradling her jaw and it felt heavy, the strongest anchor the world could make.

Delia’s eyes were darker now, slipping her thigh between Patsys as her thumb rubbed the trail of Patsys lips, stroked the bruised bottom lip and deftly pushed its way into Patsys panting mouth. When she spoke next her accent rolled out stronger than usual and made Patsys heart beat faster. 

“Hello yourself stranger.”

Patsy bit down gently on Delia’s thumb, curling her tongue to suck greedily around the digit, her hips pushing up urgently until they found Delia’s, the sharp points of hip bone cutting into Patsys skin with nowhere near enough pressure. Two months was too long.

Delia’s breathing hitched, her thumb gliding in and out of Patsys mouth hypnotically in slow slippery pushes past Patsys lips as she raised her face to Patsys ear and nipped at the soft skin just beneath the lobe.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day.’ Delia’s words were meant for the dark, neither of them would have admitted it in the light of day but it didn’t make it less true. Patsy grumbled as Delia’s thumb was removed with a wet pop and replaced with two fingers. ‘I could have killed Max, I had all these plans.’ She sighed with feeling as her hips began to glide against the friction of Patsys stomach lazily. ‘I wanted to pull you into that bath tonight. I wanted you inside me.”

Sucking on Delia’s finger hard enough to make Delia grumble Patsy regretfully pulled her mouth free. Her chin felt damp with saliva and her face was too hot. 

Delia was effectively pinning her to the bed and immobilising any prospect of moving away, not that she wanted to. The slick wet of her obvious arousal was already spreading over Patsys naval like honey, begging to be touched and Patsy didn’t need much of an invitation. Her hands were already inching down to grasp at Delia’s hips, trying to move her faster, to gain some control of the pace. To make this building pressure in her stomach race quicker than the drumming in her ears.

Delia didn’t complain about this, just continued to press wet open kisses against Patsys jaw but when Patsys tried to slip her hand between their bodies Delia tutted and leant forward to trap the advancing limb.

“No Cariad,’ she said in her primmest senior staff nurse tone, ‘you made me wait all night,’ she punctuated the words with another downward thrust of her hips that made her voice shake and Patsy blow out a stream of air, ‘and I’m having you first.”

Patsys chest tightened as she tried to wriggle down the bed, giving up on her hands initial course to pluck at a nipple instead, gritting her teeth at the way Delia jerked against her as she rolled each one between her thumb and forefinger until they hardened. They were frustratingly still too far away though. “Let me suck them?” She pleaded with as much authority as could muster, stretching her neck to give Delia more access. Words felt like hard things to make.

Delia’s smile when it came was sharp, the curving feel of it made Patsys toes curl as the Welshwoman shifted up just enough to lean over Patsy. Her breasts swayed above Patsys head but still just a shade too far away. Patsy eyed Delia reproachfully and snapped up her hips sharply in a pointless thrust to try and make her move closer.

“I just told you. I’m calling the shots tonight.’ Delia reminded Patsy rather smugly. Too smugly.

Didn’t they say pride came before a fall? Did that even fit in this situation? Patsy narrowed her eyes and sat up levering Delia back so quickly that Delia didn’t have time to halt the change in position.  
Patsy couldn’t stop the self satisfied groan escaping when she crushed her face to Delia’s chest, inhaling hard as she could, sucking desperate lungfuls of her in. Delia always smelled sweet and Patsy would swear she could find her blindfolded.

“We need a better system.” Patsy mumbled with feeling, one hand moulding itself to Delias bum to keep her sitting in Patsys lap while she pulled at Delia uselessly like she could somehow make them closer than they already were. Her other hand was already working between Delias thighs, gliding through slick folds and circling Delias clit.

Delia’s protests never even got into open air as her head fell back. Her arms latched their way around Patsys neck, holding on for support as Patsy found her opening and slid two fingers inside. The soaking heat gripped at her fingers, the tightness making them both moan.

Patsy kept still for a moment, giving Delia time to adjust before twisting her wrist for a better angle and starting up a gentle pace.

Delia’s fingers scrabbled along Patsys back, the crescent shaped marks of her nails biting into the skin.

Patsy puffed hot air against Delias throat as she scraped her teeth along a pulsing carotid artery. Her thoughts were foggy, all that mattered was the steady rhythm of her hand, the sound of Delias sharp breaths and the quiet slap of flesh hitting flesh.

“If this is what you were after,’ Patsy hissed thinly, flattening her hand to the small of Delias back as Delia rocked against her thrusts, ‘all you had to do was ask.”

Delia didn’t reply, didn’t seem to be listening at all and the part of Patsy that wasn’t watching events unfold with an ear out for small children shivered with dissatisfaction. Some reaction would have been nice. She wanted Delia to know what they were doing, she wanted her to know that it was Patsy doing it.

Acting on impulse rather than caution Patsy sped up.

Delia’s hands gripped harder when Patsy added another finger, curling them on every thrust to brush against the smoother patch of tissue just inside.

“Fuck, Pats.” Delia rested her sweaty face on Patsys shoulder and bit down hard to muffle her moans.  
See, purred an internal voice in Patsys head. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Patsy knew Delia well enough to know that she could make her cum within the next minute if she kept this pace up but a perverse part of her didn’t want to. She wanted to keep Delia on the edge for as long as possible just to make this last longer. She didn’t want to let Delia go. She didn’t want it to end.  
So she didn’t; alternating between slow and fast; letting Delia build herself up, pushing her to the edge and slowing just before she could finish. Her thumb easing up and down the hard ridge of Delias clit all the time in an easy motion that promised she could keep it up for hours.

Delia didn’t seem to notice straight away. The first time she only shivered, a faint note of disappointment that quickly melted away as she rubbed her sweaty face into Patsys neck.

The second time the protest was more audible, the fingers against Patsys back digging hard enough to make Patsys teeth grind together.

The third time Delias composure began to slip, her forehead butting reproachfully hard against Patsys collar bone.

The fourth time she growled into Patsys ear. Half begging and half threatening in strangled welsh. Her hips tilting as she tried to search out Patsys fingers.

The fifth time Delia took the matter into her own hands. When Patsy cut off her thrusts Delia seemed to lose any control left. Dropping a hand with a snarl she held Patsys wrist so tightly it sent warning tingles down Patsys arm. Securing the other arm around Patsys neck in a near strangle hold Delia set her own pace, riding Patsys fingers with deep, harsh strokes that left them both panting at the force.

Patsy watched in awe, her cheeks burning, as Delias back arched, her hips rolling so fast the bed beneath them creaked ominously in protest. More beautiful than Patsy could say.

And, for this moment, more Patsys than anyone else’s.

Crushing Delia closer Patsy curled her fingers one last time and felt the muscles around them clench as Delia orgasm hit her hard.

She rocked, grinding down garbled words spilling out of her mouth, half incomprehensible Welsh and half unintelligible English until Patsy cut them off with a smothering kiss that made Delia grab at her face.

Patsy held her through it, rocking them both as she croaked her own muffled words into the dark. Delia. Delia. Just a name except that it wasn’t. It was Patsys world. Her hands stroked Delias back, feeling the sweat cool, the vice grip around her neck lessening in increments as Delia puffed hot breaths against her skin.

When she was more aware Delia blinked, still breathing heavily and punched Patsys shoulder blade lightly making Patsy laugh in surprise.

“What was that for?” Patsy asked Delia’s ear muzzily, trying to feign a wince but unable to stop the smile stealing over her. She felt like she should be bubbling, the heady euphoria with Delia this close.

“Just felt like it.’ Delia muttered, smiling back into Patsys cheek, ‘and because you distracted me. I had a plan you know.”

Patsy nuzzled the top of Delias head. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.” Just to illustrate the point Patsy gave Delia a tight squeeze, the bottom of her rib cage jutting sharply against Patsys forearms.

Delia sniffed, looking up to take Patsy in.

Her eyes were still unfocused, her smile foggy but the dimples flashed like beacons and Patsys heart thumped harder. One word, just one word from Delia and Patsy would tell her anything. Everything.

Enchanted, Patsy crooked her finger and followed a slow path from Delias throat, between the valley of her breasts down to her belly button and the flash of a silvery scar. Sweat gathered around the digit and Patsy dipped her mouth to kiss the soft skin reverently, ignoring Delias muffled complaint.

Delia had always been ridiculously uncomfortable with the traces of pregnancy left on her stomach. 

“You’re so beautiful Delia... so pretty.” Patsy sighed, her voice wobbling traitorously as she marvelled at how much she meant it. 

Delia huffed a laugh, shaking her head to grin lopsidedly at Patsy through half closed eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me Pats, you’ve already got me into bed.”

The casual statement oddly bitter.

Patsy only stared at Delia, biting back the angry retort she couldn’t say. The easy words were like a slap in the face and she wanted to shout. She wanted to scream. The tightness in her chest was suffocating.

How dare Delia say that now.

But Delia was already shifting away, guiding Patsy to lay back. Already zooming off at her usual million miles an hour.

Patsy didn’t fight her. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t move. A stubborn part of her disengaging from the hurt.

She couldn’t stop her body though. Delia knew Patsy better than anyone in the world. Better than Maggie had maybe even though that thought made hot snakes of guilt slide down Patsys spine.

Possibly it was the Welsh thing. All those rolling R’s and double Ls. Made for strong tongues. Smart mouths.

Patsy could feel the pressure building in her stomach, sharp bursts of electricity curling around her nerves quicker and quicker like an inflating balloon. Her hips surged uncaring of the emotions Patsy couldn’t box in, even as she sucked in confused bursts of air, her fingers scrabbled at the soft wood of the footboard as she felt her body arching upwards, hurtling towards-

“Mam?” A soft, sleepy and above all curious voice sliced through the night. Shattering the moment.

It was like Ice. Pig. Pig was awake. Through the perilously closed but unlocked door a floorboard creaked. The noise bored straight through Patsys whirring brain like a burning knife in butter.

“Oh God, not now.” She half sobbed stupidly, unable to think about anything but the desperate need to finish what she was doing. She opened her mouth to try and pant something else but Delia was already looming above her, a hand smacked hard over Patsys mouth to keep it shut.

Through the confusion and the panic Patsy and Delia stared at one another in horror.

“We’re in my room.” Delia explained in a barely there accusation through gritted teeth. Patsy could only frown her bemusement and apology, still not quite back with reality.

“Oh.” Patsy didn’t let the word come out, her horrified mouth just opening into the startled shape.

“Pats?... Mam are you alright?” Pigs voice was way too close behind the flimsy barrier of the bedroom door now and getting closer.

Delia, obviously deciding that Patsy wasn’t going to be much use, scrambled madly off Patsy and the bed and swiped up her dressing gown from who knew where. Wrapping it tightly around her she swiftly disappeared through the door, only opening it up to squeeze through the most minute crack she could make before closing it again and forcing Pig to step back into the landing.

Patsy strained her ears as she tried to breathe normally again.

“What are you doing up, it’s late Cariad.” Delia had always had a knack for a stern mother voice but even Patsy could hear how breathless she was. Pig would notice it too. She sounded like she’d been running.

“I heard a funny noise, I thought you were poorly. Are you? Is that why Patsys with you?”

Patsy closed her eyes, stretching out her arms to feel the rapidly cooling sheets against her wrists, needed the cold blood to try and think. Amused despite herself. She had no doubt that Delia would find an excuse for this but already the stupidity of their actions was gnawing at her. Reckless.

“Poorly? Oh no Cariad, I just...’ Delia struggled for a second to wade through a list of possibilities and then settled lamely on, ‘had a bit of cramp in my leg. Patsy got me a glass of water. Now, you need to go back to bed.”

“But I’m not tired.” Pig rather spoiled this statement with a loud yawn.

Delia leapt on the easy automatic response. “Bed,’ she threatened ominously, ‘right now. Come on.”

Their voices faded almost instantly. Patsy was left to assume that Delia had picked the girl up and carried her back into her bedroom given the speed at which they vanished.

Silence ran about the room; incriminating and accusatory all at once. Patsy blew a strand of hair that had stuck to her cheek away. Her body felt shaky, the drying sweat vaguely uncomfortable and an insistent ache informed her that she could either finish the job herself or get up. She rubbed her stomach and crossed her ankles as she tried to long out the inevitable.

The masochist was the part in her that made the decision to move in the end. Patsy was never very good at lounging around for very long. Besides; the room was a mess.

The bed looked ridiculous. Seeing it with dimly focused eyes Patsy could hardly blame Pig for waking up. They’d clearly been louder than they’d thought. Irresponsible in the extreme.

Her legs weren’t quite up to their normal strength at the moment but Patsy, stumbling more than once and cringing at the noise she was still making, clumsily picked up pillows and the duvet which had been lost to the floor unnoticed by either of them. 

Mechanically she tucked them back into place. Smoothed down the covers. Laid the pillows into their proper position. Even the show pillows weren’t missed.

She’d be nothing be thorough.

When she was finished Patsy stood and looked down at the bed sadly. With an unusual sense of bitterness she realised just how quickly it was possible to eradicate the evidence what they’d just done. Once again the nagging sense of dissatisfaction at their lack of label or even a discussion around the subject left a bad taste in her mouth. She almost wanted to cry.

Or punch something.

For long minutes Patsy didn’t move. Secretly hoping that Delia would be back if she hung around. 

Hoping she’d want Patsy to still be here.

Bed made, Patsy was aware that their evening was officially over. Pigs arrival was the proverbial bucket of ice and now that it was done there wasn’t a reason for Patsy to remain in Delias room. It wasn’t as though they were stupid enough to attempt a sleepover with Pig awake at first light.

She should probably go.

Delia’s bed did look inviting though and the dragging weight in Patsys limbs made the prospect of walking down the hall seem more like a marathon. She wanted to stay. She wanted to stay more than she could ever put into words. She wanted to slide back under the covers and when Delia returned she wanted to wait for the Welsh woman to wrap her arms around Patsys waist the way they did when they were alone. She wanted to go to sleep with Delias warmth pressed against her back.

She wanted to stay here and not go. She wanted to belong here.

She didn’t want to go to her own bed alone and think about things.

But they’d made their pathetic little agreement and they hadn’t included any of this.

Sighing, more sad than angry, Patsy took one more sweeping check of the room and then started to pick up her clothes and put them on.

It was all for the best. Probably.


	4. Shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shock  
> Noun
> 
> A sudden upsetting or surprising event or experience.

“I can’t do it!”

“Yes you can, you’re doing so well, the heads nearly out.”

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!”

Patsy took a deep breath, her hands automatically opening the sterile birthing pack as she looked up from her work. The mother to be she was currently working with was red faced, her hair coming loose of its once perfect bun and the carefully applied makeup of yesterday was now clumping together under the torrent of sweat dripping down her nose.

Whoever said the birth was the most beautiful thing in the world had probably never been this close to the event.

Patsy smiled encouragingly and patted the woman’s thigh.

“Jessie you’re doing an amazing job, I can see the top of babies head. If you can give me a few big pushes then baby will be here. I know you’re tired but you can do this, you have to do this.”

“I want Greg.” The woman wailed. Her shoulders heaving with effort.

Patsy nodded soothingly. The father to be, a seventeen year old stick thin young man wearing more labels on his t-shirt than Patsy had thought possible, had come in with his girlfriend yesterday night but left four hours ago to go to the nearby McDonalds drive through “for a break.” 

So far he hadn’t come back or answered the many phone calls from both Patsy or the mother to his imminent child and Jessica, fifteen and very frightened, had been left to battle on like the trooper she was ever since with only Patsy for company.

It happened sometimes. Young fathers who decided at the last minute to disappear.

Reading the signs now Patsy had asked the woman if she wanted Patsy to call her mother for support instead but the girl had shaken her head. 

Apparently mum wasn’t supportive of the baby or Greg. So it was just them together.

The girl had flopped back onto the bed now, fat tears dripping down her face as another contraction ripped through her.

“I can’t do it.’ She sobbed again, shaking her head as she sucked on the pethodine, biting down so hard her teeth made gauges in the plastic mouth piece. ‘It hurts so bad.”

Inwardly Patsy sighed in agreement. The girls labour had been going on for nearly 24 hours, her waters having broken early sometime yesterday evening but the cervix had taken a long time to dilate. Once dilated the road was still rocky. Baby was moving but slower than Patsy would have liked. 

It would appear that they had a little trickster on their hands. Sticking just at the base of the opening. Baby had now remained in the same position for the last three minutes and Patsys instincts told her that things were likely to go very wrong if Jessie couldn’t keep pushing.

Not that Patsy could blame her. The poor thing was rightfully exhausted; this was probably the hardest thing she’d ever done and it was harder than it should be. She was alone and she was young and scared. It wasn’t a surprise that she was flagging.

Across the other side of the bed the heart monitor for mum and baby showed that baby was becoming exhausted too. If the heart rate increased any more then Patsy was going to have to call for help.

Forceps were becoming more and more likely and as much as Patsy disliked the idea of traumatising the mother she would have to do it if they couldn’t get this show back on track soon.

The heart monitor, as if in response dropped another two digits. 

They were losing valuable time. The big red emergency call button beckoned bleakly.

Patsy had to try one more time though, her gut told her Jessie could do this. She was rarely wrong.

“Now you listen to me Jessica,’ she said in her most authoritative voice, ‘you’ve done an exceptional job, truly marvellous but I need you to dig in sweetie. Your baby needs you, it’s getting a bit stressed in there and we’ve got to press on. I know it hurts but I’m going to need to you to give me a really strong push deep into your bottom. I can see babies head, it’s nearly here. Just a few more pushes and you’ll meet baby.”

Jessies lip shivered, trying to focus through the pain. “It’s... The babies poorly?” Panic flooded her face.

Patsy squeezed the girls leg. “Not poorly, just tired. I don’t want to scare you but baby can’t stay where it is for much longer. If you can’t keep going I’m going to have to call some colleagues in to give you a bit of help.”

“Y-You’re going to cut me?” Jessies fists balled down on the sheets. She’d already told Patsy she didn’t want that. Her own mother had required ten stitches apparently and the matrimonial horror stories had left a deep rooted fear.

Patsy didn’t want to frighten her patient but the fact baby’s heart rate was inching toward the 170’s spoke for itself. They were running out of time.

“I need a big push Jessie. Come on. You can do it.”

Jessie groaned but managed to drag herself back into a half sitting position. A bit more purpose visible as she sucked in a deep breath and screamed.

Screamed and screamed and screamed.

Patsy wasn’t watching Jessie though. Jessie could scream as loud as she wanted as long as they didn’t lose this baby. The little shape that had been vaguely visible at the top of the birth canal was suddenly jutting out to display a dark thatch of slick hair.

“You’re doing it! Well done you clever thing! Now take a quick break, deep breaths, I can see babies head. Wait for the next contraction.” Smiling, everything slotting into place Patsy reached for Jessies hand and brought it down to touch the soft spot on her babies revealed scalp.

The girl gasped, more tears falling as she stroked the space.

“One more big push and baby’s head will be out. Really big one now Jessie. One more big one, you can give me one more big push can’t you? One big push for your baby. Come on; ready.”

After that it was all a blur. The problem finally resolving itself when it became apparent that Jessies little boys slight delay had been due to his decision to enter the world with one arm raised; super man style. Elbows were never easily manoeuvred in a tight birth canal.

All fingers and toes were accounted for swiftly and he took no time at all to display an excellent pair of working lungs. 

On the whole an entirely perfect baby boy.

Patsy propped the shocked lad onto his mother’s chest as she delivered the placenta and afterbirth without any further complications.

Baby Riley weighed 6lbs and 2oz. Mother and child doing fine. Exactly as it should be.

Patsy remained in the room for the next half an hour just to monitor the pair. Riley latched excellently within the first ten and Jessie seemed utterly in love with her baby. All things ending exceptionally well considering the alternatives.

Patsy wiped her forehead. The balmy weather outside was sticky and damp with heavy moisture and there was blood on her wrists where the gloves hadn’t quite reached but overall she was more than satisfied.

As she left the room she almost collided with the missing in action father. Greg was carrying a damp paper bag filled with McDonalds and a hopeful expression.

Unwillingly Patsy thought of Max and decided she didn’t have the energy to waste on another useless father. Max hadn’t visited to see Pig until she was three weeks old. Patsy had wanted to rip Pig out of his arms when he’d held her; not trusting the man an inch.

Patsy forced a smile, biting back the retort she’d have loved to snap out. “Congratulations. You have a healthy baby boy, she’s just in there now if you want to meet them.” 

The boys eyes widened, almost comically shocked. “She’s had it? But... I thought it would be hours yet, If I’d known that I wouldn’t have gone to the cinema.”

Patsy didn’t get a chance to reply, although she’d have dearly loved to say something to that. He was already rushing inside, no longer aware of her. As the door swung closed she heard Jessies first acerbic comments.

Good. Get him girl.

Shaking her head Patsy had almost made it to the desk when the doors opened and a familiar face appeared.

“Molly?’ Patsy couldn’t help but laugh, Molly Pearson was one of the maternity homes frequent fliers. Patsy had a soft spot for the woman, she’d personally delivered three of Mollys daughters although Molly had had a few more interspersed between then and now apparently. Doing the maths Patsy was certain that the woman hadn’t spent longer than three months without being pregnant in the last decade. ‘Is it that time of year again?”

The woman looked up instantly, her face splitting into a happy grin as she recognised Patsy. “Nurse Mount! Oh I was hoping you’d be the one in today. You were brilliant with the twins. Last time I was in I had that Evangelina; now I won’t say anything bad about her because she damn knew what she was doing but I didn’t half miss the banter.”

“Well I can supply the banter if you supply the babies Molly. How are you? Everyone at home alright?” The twins were the first set Patsy had ever delivered and they were three years younger than Pig.

“Running riot as usual, they’re all very excited for this one. My mums got the oldest four and Kierans mums got the other five. How about you? How’s your little girl. What do you call her, goat? Donkey?”

“Pig.’ Patsy supplied easily, ‘she’s fine, started school last year.”

“Oh, did you cry? I remember when my first went to school, I had to lock myself in the car to stop bawling.” Molly was always generously interested in all small humans across the globe. The apparent motherly instinct so strong that Patsy had to marvel at it. 

“We managed. I did have one or two tears, I won’t lie.” Patsy confessed wryly. Actually, she’d blubbed all the way home and been waiting at the gates an hour earlier than necessary just in case something had gone wrong. Delia had teased her about it for weeks afterwards, shaking her head when Patsy fussed over scuffed knees and ragged plaits.

Molly patted Patsys arm, “never mind. Bet you’ll be having another one before long.”

Patsy cringed as she mentally tried to fit the details of her home life into that scenario, at the fact that Pig wasn’t even technically hers and then gave up in the face of Mollys serene certainty.

“Well if I do I can only hope I manage as well as you do. I’m sure you’ll be a fast turn around. No complications? Blood pressure all good at your last check up?” Not that Patsy expected any issues. 

Molly seemed to have been made for this sort of thing.

Molly chuckled good naturedly, breathing deeply into her chest as a contraction hit her. Her hands already expertly massaging her lower back. “All fine, you know me. I don’t cause trouble. He’s going to be a fast bugger this one though, I can tell you that much.”

Patsy nodded before registering the unexpected pronoun with surprise, her heart swelled up as she took in the slightly smug smile on Mollys face. 

“A boy? You mean you’re finally letting Kieran have a son?” Tenth time was the charm apparently.

Molly winked. “He nearly feinted when I showed him the scan after he finished work. Soft bugger thought that I was pulling his leg. Think he’s more excited than I am.”

“Well at least he’ll have a sidekick, poor thing must be overrun with all that oestrogen at home. Where is he?” Patsy peered down the corridor expectantly. Kieran was a calm and usually tired looking man and a hands on father with all their children. The couple had been together since they were twelve and were quite devoted to one another. He rarely left Mollys side when they came in and Patsy liked watching when he went home after the birth to bring in London’s ever increasing version of the Brady Bunch to meet the newcomer.

Molly was busy digging through her handbag for her yellow book. “He’ll be having a crafty fag I imagine, poor love thinks I believe he’s quit and getting the bags out of the car. I thought I better get a shift on, contractions are coming five minutes apart. I reckon I’ll have it done with by half four. I’ve put Emmerdale on record just in case though but I reckon we’ll be home in time.”

Patsy checked the clock on the wall seriously, with so much practice she trusted Mollys instincts completely. That assessment gave them forty minutes. “Alright, let me just go and get a quick cup of tea for us all and I’ll be in to check on things. Room three alright for you?”

Molly nodded, one hand stroking her bump rhythmically while the other pressed at her lower back. “Rightio. Don’t suppose you’ve got any of those nice biscuits for me too have you?” Hope peeked out through the breathlessness giving a flash of the apparently shy girl Molly had once been. 

Patsy smirked. “I’m starting to think you only have babies to raid my biscuit cupboard.”

Molly winked again. “And the free lie down. Don’t forget that.”

Smiling faintly Patsy watched her waddle away, so familiar with the ward that she didn’t require instructions and rubbed her aching shoulders. Fulfilling as midwifery was sitting on your knees waiting for babies was hell on the neck.

And there wouldn’t be any respite yet.

The shift still had four hours left to go and so far there hadn’t been any let up. You got periods like this. Times when it seemed like every expectant mother in London decided on mass to descend onto the maternity home.

As though to emphasise the point Trixie appeared, her face red as she half ran up the corridor. “Did I just see Molly Pearson go past?”

Patsy nodded, finally reaching the counter and swiftly scribbling down the details in the visitors log. 

“I’ve put her in room three. Baby number ten is expected soon, it’s a boy this time.”

Trixie whistled. “Well Kieran will be happy but good lord, I think it’s high time we had a whip round and bought them a television. Considering he works two jobs you have to wonder how they find the time.”

Patsy shrugged as Trixie stopped and lent on the counter with one elbow. She’d cut her hair short again for the summer and the perfect style seemed frizzed at the edges from sweat.

“Well I’ve heard just as much Enya as I think I can take from my hynosis birth couple in room twelve.” Trixie huffed tiredly, bumping their shoulders together for a swift catch up.

“How’s room six doing?” Patsy was only partially listening, already mentally reviewing her case load, trying to work out who to check on first.

“She’s fine, I just popped my head in. Cynthia’s lady in number nine had a girl half an hour ago so she said to tell you she can take over if you want a break.”

Patsy nodded absentmindedly, patting her pockets and quickly calculating the likelihood that she could nip out to meet Delia on male surgical for a shared sandwich. Full breaks were rare beasts in healthcare. I’ll get Molly a cuppa and some biscuits and then I might take ten minutes if you don’t mind. My legs are killing me.”

But the words were barely out of her mouth when the doors opened again, scuppering all plans. A skinny woman in a cheery floral dress was bent at the waist and already wailing in apparent agony, hanging onto the shoulder of a police officer for support as both of them tumbled onto the ward looking like award winners for the worst three legged race partners.

“Help! Emergency! Someone get her a wheelchair or something!’ The policewoman was shouting in a panicky voice, ‘I found her like this in the car park, I think she’s going to blow any minute! There’s something hanging out of her!”

As one midwife Trixie and Patsy rushed towards the newest arrivals. Behind them Kieran Pearson was walking slowly, watching the show with practiced interest, a gigantic blue balloon hovering above his ear on a long blue ribbon.

Trixie reached the woman first, already slapping on the pair of emergency gloves that she kept in her scrub pocket for just such eventualities.

“Hello sweetie, my names Trixie. When did the pains start?” As she spoke Trixie was already pulling at the woman’s leggings and peering down. There was a dark stain on the crotch. Waters had broken recently given the state of drying.

“Get it out of me.’ The woman screeched through pants, ‘oh my God I think I’ve wet myself.”

Trixie shook her head in satisfaction, disregarding the woman’s statement to speak to Patsy. “I’ll deal with this, we’ll use room 7. I think it’s free. Will you telephone beds managers and tell them we don’t have any more capacity?”

Patsy agreed immediately, grateful that Trixie felt confident enough not to need her right at this moment.

Swerving around the still hyperventilating police woman without a second glance Patsy approached Kieran. “Mr Pearson, Mollys in room 3 if you want to go and find her. I hear congratulations are in store. A boy at last.”

Kieran Pearson bit his lip, almost quivering with excitement. “I told her it was about time. We’ve nearly got a football team. Do you need me to take anything in? I helped give her the enema this morning and she said it wouldn’t be long.”

“So I hear, give me ten minutes to sort things out and I’ll be over. Pink wafers all round?”

Kieran visibly relaxed at the familiar question, “I wouldn’t say no nurse, I did breakfast for the kids this morning but you know what my Mollys like, she won’t eat until she’s had the baby on the day. I never like to eat around her when she gets like that.”

Patsy smiled encouragingly and patted Kieran down the corridor, watching him wander away, balloon bobbing as he walked.

So that was settled. She’d grab drinks for the Pearson’s, ring the bed managers office, check in on Jessie one more time and then try and squeeze in ten minutes with Delia before-

“Pats? Patsy Mount?”

The sound of her name brought Patsy up short. Not just mentally short but physically short too. For half a second Patsy couldn’t seem to breathe. The voice was too familiar. Horribly familiar.

The voice and the body attached to it seemed to have stopped panicking and was walking closer. Patsy could hear the squeak of police issue boots on linoleum.

Slowly now, like she was sleeping, like this wasn’t real, Patsy turned her head and looked at the newcomer.

It was Emma Wallace, it really was. She’d grown her hair out some and dyed it a dark brown rather than the old preferred blonde but the face was just the same. Grey eyes, sharp chin and a wide mouth.

Fuck. A hundred memories hit Patsy like fists.

“Patsy Mount? Is that really you?” Emma was coming even closer, her face almost as she shocked.

Patsy tried to find her voice in the dark twisted mess of her body. The question annoyed her slightly.

Was it really Patsy? As though Emma wouldn’t know her straight away.

“Emma? Well this is a shock, it’s good to see you.” Patsy lied smoothly, proud that her voice wasn’t shaking.

She tried to remember that she wasn’t the person she’d been seven years ago. She’d grown and changed. It shouldn’t kill her to touch old wounds.  
Except that it still did.

“Jesus Pats, I almost didn’t recognise you. What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” Patsy couldn’t help the coldness seeping into her voice.

It couldn’t really be helped. Emma had been Maggies best friend, her partner in crime at work and out of it. Patsy had used to make them both blush when she called Emma Maggie’s work wife but the title was well justified; the two of them practically attached at the hip. Emma had been the reason Patsy had even met Maggie. 

They hadn’t spoken since Maggies funeral though. Strong words had been exchanged at the wake. Emma had blamed Patsy for not knowing Maggie had a heart condition. Patsy had blamed Emma for making Maggie run after the collar without back up. It had been ugly and Patsy usually avoided the memories.

“Oh, yeah.’ Emma tucked her hands nervously into the arm holes of her stab vest, rocking on the balls of her boots as she looked Patsy up and down. ‘But not down here surely. Not unless you’ve got a male medical marvel tucked away somewhere that the press doesn’t know about.” She grinned weakly at her own joke, teeth flashing as they poked slightly over her bottom lip.

Patsy sighed, forcing her face into a professional, patient smile, suddenly self conscious about how heavy her uniform felt on her. At the sweat under her armpits. “I retrained Em... I’m a midwife, I work here now.” Seven years was a long time. Patsy tried not to dwell on the past so much these days but even so, Emma’s distance when Maggie first died had been difficult. Patsy couldn’t help but resent the woman for the betrayal.

Emma wanted to know what was happening in Patsys life now? What about when Patsy had needed her? Patsy didn’t have to tell her a damn thing and they both knew it.

Emma’s smile had dimmed, perhaps she’d picked up something in Patsys body language, her eyes creased at the corners sadly. “You did? That’s... That’s amazing- Sorry, I didn’t know,’ she said stallingly, ‘I- Im sorry that I- well, its been such a long time...” she shrugged, trailing off. 

Embarrassed.

Patsys fingers curled at her sides, all too aware of how long it had been. No matter how much time passed Patsy wouldn’t be likely to forget Emma’s face when she’d walked into the emergency department the day Maggie died, sleepwalking her way into Patsys nightmares.

So sorry Pats. Mags. Mags passed out and I tried to get her to open her eyes but she wouldn’t wake up. I’m so sorry Patsy.

“Quite.’ Patsy answered vaguely, trying to keep her voice stable while inner muscles twanged as they tensed. ‘Well, it’s nice to see you again.” A white lie wasn’t always bad was it?

Patsy wanted to get away, she wanted to run as fast as she could. She didn’t want to talk to Emma. 

She didn’t want to think about any of this.

She had a new life now.

“And you,’ Emma seemed to have seen Patsys hesitation because she stepped closer, her face uncharacteristically sober. Patsy had spent enough evenings watching Emma’s expressions over a dining table to not know a guilty one when it was staring back at her, ‘you look really good Pats. Are you... happy?” Emma winced slightly at the unfortunate wording but she was watching Patsy carefully, waiting for a response. The sincerity was undeniable.

Patsy swallowed uncertainly, the question feeling too much like a trap. Delia and Pig crossed her mind but she pushed them away. 

“I’m better than I was,’ she answered flatly, which was true at least, she really had been a zombie at the funeral and they hadn’t seen each other since. ‘And you? How’s-‘ Patsy had to frown as she quickly trawled through an internal filing system of names, ‘Sarah? Are you still together?”

Emma seemed to startle at the name and then she smiled, genuinely for the first time, reaching up to run her hand along the seam of her hair sheepishly. An old nervous tic. “Sarah? God, that’s a blast from the past. No, we split years ago, she’s married now I think. Met up with a plumber in Islington, I was invited to the wedding but I didn’t bother. Probably bad luck or something inviting an ex.”

They stared at each other. Patsy didn’t know if she should ask why they’d broken up, Emma didn’t sound upset over it and it wasn’t as though Patsy had really gotten to know Sarah that well before Maggie died. Honestly Patsy didn’t really care either way.

“That’s a shame, she seemed like a nice woman.” Patsy had never been good at small talk, nursing had helped her develop the skill to a point but she’d never enjoy it. The atmosphere felt too strained, full of all the things they weren’t saying.

Emma waved the comment away, “she was, yeah, my fault I’m afraid. After Mags...’ her shoulders hunched when she said the name, the skin around her eyes tightening as she frowned, ‘well, I was a bit of a mess to be honest.... You know how it was.’ She peeked at Patsy from under her lashes. ‘She got clingy and I got bored and ended up fu-er,’ Emma coughed, looking around in embarrassment as she caught herself, ‘I had a rebound thing with one of the desk girls and she found out. Messy business.’ 

Emma seemed to consider this for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Probably for the best; I always hated her singing in the shower on a morning off anyway.”

“Right. Anyone you have your eye on at the moment?” Always a safe bet. Maggie used to complain about Emma’s near constant exchange of girlfriends. Used to say she needed to start writing their names down to keep up.

“Me? No. You know what I’m like, lone wolf and all that. Would take something special to change that.”

Patsy tried to grin but her face felt like it had solidified. It was Emma’s smile; it was too familiar. 

How many times had she seen it over the years when Maggie had brought her home for tea and sympathy after yet another dating disaster or a long shift. It left an ache in her chest, the ghost of grief for the life lost.

Needing an excuse to get away Patsy looked around at the ward, the corridor was empty now but the telephone was always a safe strategy out.

“I should get back, I’m still on shift and we’re rammed to the gills,’ Patsy said as apologetically as she could manage, stepping backwards to cement the intention, ‘and you probably have your business to get back to, I can’t have the local rag saying we’ve wasted any police time, it was really nice to see you again Emma.” Or not. See you in another seven years maybe.

Emma’s face fell at Patsys obvious retreat and she stepped forward to clutch Patsys hand clumsily. 

“Hang on!’ She seemed to realise she’d shouted because the hand securing Patsys wrist disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived. Emma tucked her hands back in her vest as though they felt safer there. ‘You’re right, I do need to go but I’d like to see you again. Have a proper catch up maybe?”

Patsy eyed her, unable to stop her face from showing her disbelief. “Catch up?’ She repeated blankly, ‘what for?”

Emma sagged, the guilty expression flashing back again. “Come on Pats,’ she weedled hopefully, ‘we used to mates didn’t we?”

“An emphasis on the past tense Emma. We haven’t seen each other in years.” This time Patsy couldn’t hide her contempt. The anger made her hands shake.

“I know,’ Emma hung her head for a moment and then rallied. That was the thing about Emma, she was never down for long. ‘Look, after Mags-“

Patsy raised a hand in warning. “Emma, I’m at work I really don’t think we need to-“

“I was a bitch alright. I was grieving and I took it out on you and I was terrible. It was totally unfair and I can understand if you’d hate me.” Emma was speaking quickly, rattling words out before Patsy could interrupt again.

Patsy settled for chewing her tongue, crossing her arms across her chest tightly.

“You were a huge part of my life. You both were. I’ve missed you and I know I’m too late but I want to make amends if I can. I think about you a lot.’ 

Gingerly Emma edged forward, her shoulders bending forward as though she was considering going in for a hug. Perhaps wisely she didn’t try to attempt it but she nudged Patsys foot with her boot. 

‘I’d give anything to have what we used to have.”

Patsy stared into Emma’s face, torn. It was hard not to like Emma. Even if they’d never gone anywhere after the first disastrous attempt at a date when Maggie had stolen the spotlight she’d always been kind. Patsy had never felt uncertain around her until the very last time they’d seen one another. It was hard to fight the old comerarderie.

And honestly, Patsy couldn’t blame her for being a mess when Maggie died. She was hardly any better.

“Maybe... Maybe we could go for a drink some time.” Patsy couldn’t make herself sound less stiff but Emma didn’t appear to mind. She was already beaming.

“Tonight?” She suggested excitedly.

Patsy hesitated. She’d promised Pig that they’d play twister and it was her turn to cook dinner. “I can’t, not tonight. I’ve made plans already.”

“Saturday then?’ Emma wasn’t easily deterred, ‘we could go to the Cordwainer? I could see about getting us a table somewhere? My treat.”

Patsy almost managed a real smile this time. The Cordwainer had been Maggie’s favourite pub. She’d lost count how many hours they’d all wasted there over the years propping up the bar. It had been the pub Emma had taken her to on their one and only date.

“Alright, Saturday then. About six thirty?”

Emma did a good impression of a nodding dog toy, pulling free her mobile phone and quickly tapping out Patsys number. “I’ll call you then, shall I pick you up?”

Again Patsy hesitated, not sure how Delia would feel about seeing a stranger picking Patsy up from the house. Not that Delia had any to be jealous of someone like Emma but even so...

“No, I’ll meet you there. We can grab some chips from Rambottoms if you want?”

Emma did want apparently. She left ten minutes later, whistling loudly.

Patsy stared after her, still not entirely sure that she’d done the right thing until Keiran appeared again to say that Mollys baby was well and truly on its way. A quick peek at the clock told her that she’d been standing there for twenty minutes. Her non existent break would need to wait as she hurried back to her work.

Luckily for her babies didn’t care about personal dramas.


	5. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> denial  
> noun
> 
> A refusal to acknowledge an unacceptable truth or emotion or to admit it into consciousness, used as a defence mechanism.

It was just a dress.

It was just a dress. Nothing special about it. Wasn’t even a new dress at that; it was an old one that had been washed so many times that the cotton was faded and soft to the touch. It was comfortable.

The fact that it looked good on her was hardly notable. No one was going to be looking at her with interest in it.

Anyway it was green for gods sake. It went below the knees. It wasn’t a sexy dress.

And she should be allowed to wear a dress! It wasn’t a crime.

This wasn’t a big deal. She wasn’t doing something wrong.

Even so...

Patsy tried to control her breathing as her hands fluttered and fussed around the material across her stomach while she stared at her own frowning reflection in the little half length mirror they usually kept tucked in the airing cupboard for emergencies.

Through her open bedroom window Patsy could hear the faint but unmistakable sounds of an argument raging on in the flats further down the road. Someone swore and a woman began to shout shrilly. Doors banged. Or maybe it was a window. Too far to really know for certain the specifics. The sound still grated on her thinning nerves as she continued to stare at her reflection. She wasn’t fool enough not to recognise the guilt etched into the planes of her face.

But she didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. 

She was almost certain of that.

Almost. A term generally utilised usefully only with horseshoes and hand grenades.

She’d done her hair as much as she could be bothered. Straightened it at first and then changed her mind halfway through; deciding on curls instead. They hung rather limply now against the back of her neck and made her feel uncomfortably warm. Out of practice at dressing up.

The overall effect felt forced and that was irritating her too.

She didn’t often wear her hair down at work, preferring to save it from the perils of bodily fluids leaking into the strands at random moments. At home she either scrubbed it back in a pony tail or left it down after just a quick going over with a brush. More recently she’d been reduced to wearing clumsy unequal braids because Pig liked playing hairdressers and when a six year old is approaching you with a wrist full of hair bobbles and a serious expression the safest thing to do was just sit on the floor and let it happen.

It felt wrong to be wearing her hair like this. Like she was trying too hard to be someone else. Someone she used to be and wasn’t anymore.

But Emma would be expecting the old Patsy; the twenty two year old who always liked getting ready to go out with Maggie. They’d used to do this sort of thing a lot back in the old days.

So. She was wearing a dress and she looked quite unlike herself. Hardly the crime of the century.

She’d even blobbed on some makeup too, only changing her mind once, cleaning it all off and starting again when she’d decided she’d looked too pale. She’d messed up her eyebrows twice more though. Her hands had been shaking, her stomach rolling around and around inside her abdomen and leaving her feeling strangely sick.

She couldn’t be sure if the feeling really was guilt or just plain old anxiety.

Facts were that she was anxious about meeting Emma. Not sure if she was walking into an argument.

But she shouldn’t have any reason to feel guilty I’ve factually found. It was madness. Patsy had scolded herself several times about this already today.

This wasn’t a date.

Patsy was very clear in mind on that fact. Emma was an old friend and they were meeting for a catch up. There was nothing sinister in it.

Patsy had never fancied Emma, they’d been friends. Okay, so Maggie had liked to tease her that Emma had always had a crush on her but that had been years ago. They were different people now. Patsy was practically a mother.

And people went out for a drink with old friends all the time.

And Delia wasn’t her wife. Nor was she Patsys girlfriend. Officially speaking they weren’t even a couple. She wouldn’t have a reason to be annoyed even if Patsy was going on a date.

Patsy could go on hundreds of dates if she wanted to...

Which sounded almost right until she actually played those scenes out in her head and then her stomach clenched harder.

She felt sick.

Urgh. Patsy gave up on trying to make herself any more presentable, shook her head at her own mental knots and slammed her bedroom door closed more forcefully than necessary. A small shower of paint chips rattled off the door frame and showered around her.

Breathing heavily she swiped at her dress, hoping there wouldn’t be any marks and trying to get a better grip of her behaviour.

This was all utterly ridiculous!

Patsy blamed Trixie entirely for the onslaught of confusion. She hadn’t even considered that she was doing something wrong until her friend had unhelpfully pointed it out.

Trixie had been far too interested about the mystery cop when Patsy had finally managed to speak to her. Evening hand over had finished and they’d been strolling across the car park. Patsy had told her with only mild interest, more focused on her feet which had been burning and her stomach which had been making its emptiness known for the last three hours.

She never had got that sandwich with Delia.

“So she asked you out?’ Trixie had asked heavily, leaning up against the bonnet of her car, puffing contentedly on the first cigarette in 13 hours, irrelevantly ignoring the large blue sign bolted to the wall nearby that prohibited just such behaviour. 

Both of them tended to park away from the cameras and just had to hope that no top floor people had decided to pull a late shift in order to catch them smoking on hospital property. ‘Like a sort of date?”

Patsy had laughed at that, “no, don’t be stupid, she was Maggie’s best friend, that’s all. She probably just wants to talk about all the old times. You know what people are like for reminiscing.”

Trixie raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow and made a show of scanning Patsy from top to toe. “I know it’s heroin for old people. But it’s been years, why now?”

“I don’t know,’ Patsy threw her car keys into the air and caught it, needing something to do with her hands, ‘maybe she felt guilty running into me and not offering. I don’t know, what’s the standard procedure for talking to your dead wife’s best friend after ten years? It’s not like we were talking for hours.” Moly’s baby had arrived on time as planned, a gigantic bouncing boy with a thatch of blond hair. Kieran junior, 10lbs 12oz.

“Hmm,’ Trixie considered this for a moment suspiciously and then shrugged. ‘What did she say when you told her about Pig and Delia?”

Patsy frowned, “I didn’t say anything about them, I just told you that we didn’t talk for long. That doesn’t mean I won’t.’ She added quickly because Trixie had started tutting. ‘I’m not keeping them a secret, it just wasn’t the right time, that’s all.”

“Well I’d make sure to drop it into conversation early on if I were you.’ Trixie advised dryly. ‘Then you’ll be sure that this Emma won’t be under any illusions that you’re available.”

That had got Patsys back up, she’d stiffened. “And what if she does? Delia is my roommate.” But the words sounded weak even to herself.

Trixie snorted, a small trickle of smoke drifting from her nostrils and rolled her eyes. “Oh of course, how could I forget? Well pardon me and the rest of the world for being more than a little confused about your relationship status with the mother of your child.”

“She is not the mother of my child. She is the mother of a child that I parent.” Patsy corrected resignedly. They’d had this conversation too many times to feel awkward anymore.

Trixie smirked. “Fine, fine she’s just your live-in non wife wife. Who you coparent with and occasionally sleep with on a schedule that borders on the sociopathic. Completely above board. Can’t see why people might make assumptions.”

Patsy sighed. “I’m not going to tell you things if you’re constantly going to make fun of me.”

Trixie tutted again. “I’m not making fun of you sweetie, I’m just pointing out something which is rather obvious to me. I mean, what’s Delia going to say when she finds out? What are you going to do if this Emma thinks it really is a date? As a friend I can’t help but feel it’s rather my job to stop you driving over cliff tops.”

Patsy thought about this, then tried to imagine Delia’s response and then gave up. 

She suddenly felt utterly depressed, the emptiness inside her no longer solely because she was starving. “Delia wouldn’t think anything,’ Patsy told her feet miserably. ‘I told you, it’s not like that for us.”

They hadn’t carried on the conversation much longer after that. Trixie had seemed to pick up on Patsys morose turn in mood but had widely chosen not to comment and they’d parted ways with only a few more scattered exchanges on safer topics about the weather and the ward.

But for all of Patsys protestations, Trixies words seemed to have wormed their way into her brain and burrowed down over the next few days.

Her guilt had been rather contributed to by the fact that she hadn’t been as honest as she could have been with Delia. She told Delia that she was meeting up with one of Maggie’s old friends for a drink which had been true.

She just hadn’t told her who the friend was. Delia would know who Emma was. She’d worry. 

Needlessly of course but even so, Patsy wasn’t in the habit of omitting the truth to Delia.

Well, scrap that, she’d never omitted the truth to Delia.

She was acutely aware that she was dancing along the invisible line where lying was a possible reality and she hated it.

Delia and Pig were in the kitchen when Patsy came stomping downstairs. Patsy could smell onions and mince meat being fried and accompanying sound of the tin opener creaking around a flimsy tin of chopped tomatoes. Delia was cooking spaghetti bolognese. A house favourite.

Pig was sitting at the dining table when Patsy arrived to hover in the doorway, one hand supporting her chin as she chewed the end of a pencil and squinted down at an A4 paper sheet that was her maths homework. Delia was standing at the cooker, poking at the saucepan with a wooden spoon, one hand on her hip as she directed Pig absentmindedly.

“Okay, one more time; mae un plws saith yn hafal Cariad?”

Pig moaned, her teeth digging into the thin metal shell that surrounded the pink glitter rubber at the top of her pencil. “Mam, I don’t want to do it in Welsh.”

“Don’t be silly, you can do this. One plus seven equals?”

Pig screwed up her eyes in concentration, sighing dramatically in a way that Patsy knew damn well she’d learned more from Patsy than Delia. The addition of additions to the mathematical landscape was not being welcomed with open arms by their six year old. “Naw?” She suggested hopefully.

Delia tutted and emptied the opened can of tomatoes into the spitting saucepan. “Wyth.” She corrected gently.

Pig opened her eyes and scowled, throwing her pencil down with finality. “This is stupid mam! Why do I have to speak Welsh anyway! I live in London.”

“Because you’re half Welsh and your nan will nail me to a burning cross if you don’t, that’s why.” Delia snapped in exasperation. They’d been having this argument more often recently, Eileens distant expectations intruding into the families routines more frequently.

Pigs answer was to pick up her pencil and drop it on the table again for maximum dramatic effect, probably shattering the lead down the whole thing as she did so and looking quite like Patsy when she was in a bad mood. Folding her arms, short legs waving half a foot in the air from the floor, she pouted up at her mother. “But daddies English and Patsys English so that makes me more English than Welsh. Anyway, learning Welsh is boring mam.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s your heritage Cariad.’ Delia intoned firmly. ‘And the next time we see nanny don’t you think it would be nice if you could ask her a question in Welsh? She’d love that.”

“Exactly,’ Patsy breezed, moving deeper into the room to lean her back against the kitchen wall, ‘you should ask her how the gingerbread cottage business is going lately. Last I heard she was still being stung over those two German kids getting stuck in her oven. Can’t think why.”

Delia turned around at that, her face already set in her patented ‘you’re not helping’ expression but it caught and shuttered when she met Patsys eye. Surprise and then something else was sharply hidden from view as she realised what Patsy was wearing. 

The pot must be warmer that Patsy had realised as she noted the rising pink in Delias cheeks.

Pig was less subtle, her mouth hung open showing, alas, the sad remnants of a chewed pencil rubber.

The feeling of unease intensified in Patsys stomach under their combined stares and she fidgeted on the spot.

It was Pig who mercifully broke the suspense, her scowl deepening as she pointed a recriminatory digit at the space between the hem of Patsys dress and the floor. “What are they?” she demanded in the same indignant tone that a woman might enquire of a cat that’s just dragged back a whole rabbit.

Patsy looked down towards the same general area and then back at Pig. “Legs?” She suggested evenly. Her packet of cigarettes were balanced on top of the fridge and she plucked them up and hid them behind her back with a surreptitious sweep of her arm.

She knew full well that Pig knew she smoked but she didn’t want an earful from Eileen if Pig ever chose to copy the bad habit.

“I know that. Why have you got them out?” Pig asked grumpily, plucking up her pencil again and twirling it between thumb and forefinger in sharp rapid circles. Then a thought seemed to strike her and she perked up a little, turning to look at Delia. ‘Are you going out too mam?”

Delia didn’t respond immediately but her neck turned a brighter red as she blinked, apparently still focused on Patsy. “What? Oh, no. No we’re having a girls night tonight Cariad. Patsys meeting a few friends.”

Patsy laughed, trying to defuse the tension, aware that Delia had put down her wooden spoon and was eyeing her warily saying nothing while Pigs scowl had returned deeper than before. The pencil twirling so fast now that it was likely to spring out and slam into the wall at any moment.

“It’s just a dress,’ Patsy tried clumsily, twirling around so that the hem billowed out. ‘don’t you like it?”

“No, I don’t.’ Pig said moodily, glaring down at her pencil. ‘You look stupid. Why do you have to go out? It’s Saturday. Mams cooking dinner.”

Patsy sagged, the dress suddenly uncomfortable on her and felt more than a little bit foolish. She knew Pig didn’t really mean what she said but the silliness she felt about herself was not being helped. None the less she did have an appointment to keep and her father, however distant he’d been about everything else, had always instilled in her the need for punctuality.

“I won’t be out late.” She reassured gently.

Pig only hmmphed, her bottom lip protruding out glumly and looked at the table, scowling down at her sums.

“Right, well on that note I’ll be off then.’ Patsy said a little more sharply than she’d intended. Still hurt but not wanting to make it worse she bent down to brush a kiss onto Pigs head and nodded at Delia.

Pig didn’t look up as Patsy walked out of the room but Delia followed, shouting a quick threat to Pig that the homework would need to be finished by the time the sauce was cooked before shutting the kitchen door to drown out her daughters muffled protests.

Delia rested a shoulder on the bannister as Patsy shoved her arms through her jacket and somehow got tangled up in the process. Rushing.

Watching her struggle for a minute, clearly amused Delia eventually stepped forward to assist, pulling Patsys arms free and straightening the collar.

When she was done her hand stayed where it was, her fingertips hot against the smooth column of Patsys throat.

“You look lovely.’ Delia said, her voice lower than usual. ‘Unlike Gok Wan in there I happen to like the dress and the legs under them.” As though to illustrate the point and with only a barely visible check behind her to make sure that the kitchen door was still closed Delias other hand dipped down to stroke Patsys thigh.

It was Patsy turn to blush this time, a faint ringing filling her ears, dulling her senses. All she could focus on was Delias lips. “‘s just an old thing.” She mumbled.

Delia was pressing Patsy backwards, smirking as her hand travelled higher until she was holding Patsys hip, the dress draping around her hand almost innocently. 

Patsy knew that she should probably feel insulted that Delia could make her feel like this so easily. From the smug gleam in Delias eye she knew it too.

“I could almost feel jealous you know,’ Delia hummed, her mouth an inch below Patsys ear so that Pig wouldn’t hear them. ‘You never dress up for me.”

“Didn’t know you’d want me to.” Patsy gasped.

Delia chuckled, “how long do you think you’re going to be?”

Patsy tried to think. It was difficult given the circumstances. “About twenty seconds if you move your hand the right way.” She volunteered eventually.

Delias hands paused at that and then laughed, leaning backwards and withdrawing it regretfully. “I’m really going to miss you tonight.”

Patsy ran a hand through her hair, still more than a bit bleary. “Hmm... Well at least you will.” Her eyes passed the kitchen door a little sadly.

“She doesn’t mean it.’ Delia said in a concerned undertone because Patsy couldn’t meet her eye.  
‘You know what she’s like. She gets jealous whenever she thinks she’s not the centre of your universe.’ Delia snorted, ‘imagine that? Silly right?”

“She’s probably right about the dress though,’ Patsy sighed, ‘maybe I shouldn’t have tried so hard.”

Delia tilted her head, taking in the dress as though seeing it for the first time again. “Don’t be daft. And I like the dress for the record although I wish you’d worn it for me.’ She nodded her head nonchalantly, ‘not that you ever take me out.”

Patsy rolled her eyes. “I took you to the Natural History museum last weekend.”

Delia roller her eyes in acknowledgement but waved her hand airily. “Yes but that was with Pig. I wouldn’t mind going somewhere without children if you know what I mean.”

Patsy could only stare. “I didn’t know you’d want to.” She blurted in surprise.

Like a date? Or... No. Like friends?

“Well...’ Delia bit her lip, her eyes tracking down Patsys chest. ‘Food for thought perhaps... Anyway, why are you trying so hard? I mean, you know that you don’t have to dress up to impress anyone Pats.”

Patsy chewed the inside of her cheek, fiddling with a lighter she’d just felt in the front pocket of her jacket. Delia was watching her intently and Patsy made a split second decision. Half a truth was better than nothing. “I don’t want anyone running back and telling all of Maggies friends that I’ve let myself go, that’s all. It’s silly isn’t it?”

Delia shook her head wryly and then stood on her tip toes to press a lingering kiss on Patsys lips. “I don’t think there’s any danger of that Pats. Who are you meeting anyway? You never said.”

Well so much for not mentioning names then.

Patsys hand clenched on the lighter in her fist so hard that the flint rubbed against the soft flesh of her thumb pad but she persevered to keep her voice light. “Didn’t I? It’s Emma. Emma Wallace. You know, Maggie’s friend. She spotted me on the ward and asked me for a drink. Think she’s checking up on me if I’m honest.”

“Emma?’ Now it was Delias turn to sound surprised, she took another step back as though she needed to see Patsy from further away, eyebrows drawn in. ‘Wasn’t she the one who you met Maggie through?”

Patsy ran her tongue along the back of her teeth nervously. “That’s the one, yeah.”

“But...’ Delia was clearly pondering her way down a mental pathway. ‘She’s a lesbian, isn’t she? I thought this was a group thing?”

Patsy shrugged. “No, just us and well, yes, I suppose in a round about way she probably is.”

“But... Hang on. Didn’t she ask you out? That’s why you met Maggie? She asked you out on a date and Maggie turned up.” Delia’s voice was growing cooler with every word, her arms reaching up to knot together across her chest.

“Well, yeah but that was years ago. Nearly ten years ago actually. She was Maggie’s friend all that time.” She needed to stop smiling. Nervous habit.

“I see.’ Almost with a mind of its own Delias foot began tapping on the floor. “So now she’s turned up and asked you for out a drink.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement hammered into existence with sharp twists on consonants that hinted of an angry Welsh woman holding a few extra words back with difficulty.

Patsy swallowed. “I think... I think she wanted to just see how I was doing these days.” Patsys voice sounded too breathless.

“And what did you tell her?” Delias head tilted, not casual in any way now. The subject of what Patsy could have shared plain between them.

“I told her I was a midwife.” Patsy offered weakly.

Delias jaw chewed on an invisible Murray mint as she peered at Patsy and then clearly decided to leave the subject and move onto the next more glaring one. “I see... You didn’t tell me it was Emma.” Again. Not a question.

Patsy tried to shrug again but her shoulders seemed to have frozen solid. “I didn’t know if you’d remember her.”

Delia made a Hmm noise that sounded far too much like the one her mother was fond of making. 

The last time Patsy had heard that noise was when Eileen had stayed for a week and found a miscellaneous vibrator in Delias sock drawer after it turned itself on randomly. Delia still couldn’t be certain if her mother had bought the neck massager story or not and the prospect haunted her. All sex aids were now resolutely stored in the top shelf of Patsys wardrobe.

“It’s just a drink,’ Patsy told Delias ankle wretchedly, ‘I’m not... it’s not a thing. We’re barely friends.”

“But you didn’t tell me who she was, did you? Were you going to tell me at all before you left?” Delia enquired slowly.

Patsy bit her tongue, feeling boxed in. “I don’t see why I would, there’s nothing to tell. I didn’t think it would really matter to you who I met with to be honest.”

She’d said the wrong thing. That was obvious enough almost instantly. 

Delias face emptied of everything; curiosity, mild annoyance and irritation all draining away instantly. Her jaw twanged into a rigid line so swiftly that it should have made a cartoon noise.

For two beats neither of them said anything, the ringing silence just seemed to go on and on forever as Patsy squirmed and desperately tried to think of how to fix what she’d just said.

“I see.”

“Deels-“ Patsy tried to make her voice light, like they were joking around. Like she wasn’t guilty.

“No... You’re quite right.’ Delias voice was too loud. Too sharp. ‘Why should you tell me? You can do whatever you want to do. Your life. Nothing to do with me. Got it. Have a nice night Pats.”

“Delia-“ Patsy tried again to fix her mistake, all too aware that the situation seemed to be slipping very quickly away from her clumsy grasp.

“Enjoy your evening... Do me a favour please,’ Delia snapped at her feet, refusing to meet Patsys eye. ‘Don’t be too noisy when you get back. You’ll wake up Pig... Are you planning on bringing her back here?”

“What? No, of course I wouldn’t- Delia-“ Patsy tried again, a whine in her voice now. Delia was convening the most absurd possibilities and she was wrong. She had to know that? Surely she understood the bare facts that Patsy was only interested in one woman.

But Delia was already striding back towards the kitchen, apparently not listening.

“Do whatever you want Pats. I don’t care.”

The kitchen door slammed shut so hard the boards above it groaned. From the other side of the door Patsy could hear Pig asking what was wrong, the shouty din of pots and pans being shoved back into the cupboard.

Patsy stayed where she was, blinking in the cold breeze of the empty hallway still trying to work out how the hell that had all gone so wrong so fast.


	6. Impact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Impact  
> Verb
> 
> To come into forcible contact with another object.

The cordwainer had changed. Oddly enough, given the days of anxiety in the lead up to the event this particular possibility hadn’t occurred to Patsy although she now supposed that if she had thought about it for longer than a few minutes rather than worrying about the woman she was due to meet then she should have known this would happen. 

Should have been prepared for the slow ache that the changes left in her gut.

She’d never considered that coming to a place she’d known so well in the past and finding it altered through her absence might be hard or challenging. The pub had been a place that they’d been happy, where they’d had fun.

Now it was... Pink?

It had used to be the police bar, most of the customers comprised of cops who weren’t on duty. The owners hadn’t ever minded much; there was hardly ever any trouble, no midnight robberies or broken back windows. The cops rarely got into fights beyond the boring who’d been sleeping with who on duty stuff and everyone paid their tab or weren’t served again.

Gathering from the overhaul makeover the ownership had changed hands. Possibly to a colour blind hipster if the decour was anything to go by.  
Patsy hesitated outside, smoking anxiously as she leaned against a damp bench pressed near the wall.

Her feet were killing her.

Distracted and upset when Delia hadn’t come back and not sure whether she should follow and fix her mistake Patsy had chosen to sling on the first pair of shoes she could reach and walk the three mile journey to the pub. Her feet were now punishing her for her mistake. An angry blister already throbbing on the outside of her big toe where they’d rubbed.

Halfway here and she’d almost turned back, considering the merits of just cancelling the night and returning home for spaghetti bolognese and an evening thawing out Delia’s cold shoulder. Manners and a bone deep ingrained need to arrive on time as planned had compelled her on however.

Now she was here she wished she hadn’t bothered.

Hipsters, like chlamydia and vegans seemed to spread like wildfire. Turn your back for five minutes and they’d be into your favourite places; distressing the furniture and charging £10 for a watery artisan beer that should have just been left in the beautifully hand shaped demijohn it was made in.

There’d be sourdough sandwiches in there served on metal trays a la Alcatraz style, it was an almost depressing certainty she knew. And there would be the obligatory cloned twenty year old complete with a beard and moustache in flannel and a top knot dotted with the same tattoos that had become just as generic as the outdated tribal forearm tattoo she’d been tempted by when she’d first graduated.

Fuck. She snorted at her own thoughts. She was turning into a miserable old fart earlier than she’d anticipated. Delia would have told her off for being so judgemental if she was here.

When tonight was over and the more interesting prospect of a night out together could be safely brought up again then Patsy was going to have to think about where they could go.

Wherever it was; it would not be here.

Holding her breath and forcing herself to remember that speed made things less painful providing you weren’t driving a car, she stepped inside.

It wasn’t as bad as it could be but it was close enough.

The loud, complicated and admittedly tasteless carpet of yesteryear had been removed to reveal the uneven and unpolished timbers beneath it. 

Patsy wondered if they’d spread the additional dust was just for effect or if the general dirt was simply because budgets hadn’t stretched to a hoover or a mop. Here and there the owners had broken up the floor with mismatched and threadbare rugs artfully scattered around the places where patrons later on would almost certainly trip over. The old stained booths were still there but they’d been painted darker and the walls had been filled with hundreds of clocks. A sign under a few told the looker that you could know you were miserable in a series of varied time zones and countries.

The bar was the same at least, if a bit more rustic and the prices three times higher than they had been. Glumly Patsy spotted soft drinks being handed over in jam jars.

Maggie would have refused to come in. A pub was supposed to be a pub not an art display.

A cheerful clink behind her told her with some relief that the owners hadn’t been stupid enough to remove the old pool tables. Squinting through the orange light of the expensive and yet awful lightbulbs she saw that the space had actually been left as it had always been. The tables rested a little crooked on repeatedly broken legs, the felt scarred and the trail of fifty pences lined along one edge to note the polite queue as people waited for their turn to play.

Patsy supposed they’d been left because ascetically they were just as awful as everything else here.

Emma was already here too. Patsy caught a glimpse of her wearing skinny jeans and a shirt before arms wrapped around her waist and she was being hoiked in a clumsy circle.

“Alright,’ Emma leered breathily in Patsys ear, the warm uncontrolled volley of spit telling Patsy that Emma was at least three pints ahead. ‘What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” As she spoke her mouth bumped Patsys jaw in a fake kiss, her arms still clamped around Patsys waist.

Patsy couldn’t stop herself laughing even as she rolled her eyes and slapped the woman’s hands away. Another thing that hadn’t changed then. The scene having become something of a favourite script they’d all joined in. The ache only started up when they both faced each other and realised that one of the players was missing. Maggie wasn’t here to wade in and jump on her best friend. There wasn’t the usual scuffle of giggles as Patsy watched the two of them jostle before Maggie sauntered back and pulled her in for a kiss while Emma groaned theatrically.

The fun wasn’t in it anymore and they both realised it at the same time. Patsy disguised the uncomfortable and sudden fist in her throat by straightening her dress. The pain in her feet made her feel old and the dress seemed even more of a stupid idea. Too showy for no real reason.

Emma cleared her throat and shoved both hands in her pockets in a move that Patsy recognised as awkward. She smiled a little uncertainly and pointed her chin towards the full bar. “Pint? My shout.”

Patsy nodded, grateful for the offer, never quite having needed a drink as much before and left her to get them while she scouted out an empty booth. 

It wasn’t too busy yet and there were free spots. Most of the real party animals didn’t hit the streets until ten anyway.

Getting herself settled in a round booth near the back wall she pulled her phone out of her bag and checked it for any messages. There weren’t any but Patsy wavered, wondering if she should text Delia and say goodnight to Pig. Tell her she got here safely.

It was a weak white flag admittedly but the look Delia had given her when she’d gone into the kitchen was haunting Patsy and leaving an uneasy roll in her stomach. She should probably extend some sort of olive branch now...

She still hadn’t decided on what to say though when Emma returned carrying two pints mercifully poured in actual recognisable pint glasses rather than a vase or a boot that had seemed equally likely. Glad for the distraction Patsy put her phone down and accepted her drink.

The lager wasn’t excellent but it wasn’t bad either and she drank it quickly. Thirsty from the walk and the worry. Wanting to escape the worries by blunting away reality just a little bit. It wouldn’t hurt just for tonight surely?

Emma’s alright slightly tipsy presentation helped too.

The conversation was stilted at first; neither of them knowing their boundaries properly. They’d been close as family when Maggie was alive but the long gap was a dark shadow and they couldn’t completely ignore it.

Emma had finally been made a sergeant. Passed her test a year after Maggie had died although she was careful not to put it against that particular timeline, choosing her words with an admirable diplomacy that seemed to have developed a bit more since they’d last been like this. She was working traffic at the minute but she was waiting to hear about an application to be a dog handler. 

She’d bought a place, finally getting out of renting cheap flats at last. Still single, which she’d already said but Patsy didn’t mind letting her repeat. It filled the conversation neatly.

They managed a whole second round before the tone turned maudlin. Emma cocked her head and asked if Patsy saw much of Maggie’s family these days.

It was an obvious step into the breach and they both knew it. A tentative nudge towards the obvious reason they wanted to talk in the first place. Slowly, so she didn’t seem nervous, Patsy laid her hand flat against the table, the wood curving along her palm and shook her head.

“No, not so much these days. We send Christmas cards and I call on birthdays but after... Well, no. We don’t speak often.” Maggie’s death had been hard on her mother, her father had died of a suspected stroke when Maggie was only six although Patsy privately suspected now that father and daughter had shared the same fate. In any case Emma’s declaration that Patsy should have known Maggie was ill at the funeral had fractured the family feeling between Patsy and Maggie’s mother Michelle. Michelle, Patsy assumed, must have agreed with Emma’s belief and they’d not been close after that.

Emma seemed to know what Patsys was thinking because she sighed. “She’s stubborn, always was, it was where Maggie got it from.”

“True.’ Patsy agreed still slightly stiff, ‘suppose they had to be, you know she never took benefits. Worked all the way through. Maggie thought a lot of that.” She had. She’d been very close to her mum, an only child and the two of them more like friends than mother and daughter.

“Yeah she did,’ Emma smiled fondly. ‘I can remember when we were kids and Maggie threw a house party when Michelle was out. Some kid puked on Michelle’s favourite chair and I had to hold Maggie back from kicking his teeth in.”

“As if you weren’t right next to her ready to do the same thing.” Patsy challenged evenly. It was a fair guess.

Emma sighed again, smacking her lips reminiscently. “Bought my first bottle of vodka with her when we were thirteen. And a packet of Bensons. We drank the whole thing in twenty minutes spinning round on the spot so we’d get extra drunk. Smoked three cigarettes and threw up. I’ll never know how we got home, thought Michelle would ring my mother and dob us in but she didn’t. Maggie talked her round. Got us out of trouble.”

“Yeah she was good at that.” Patsy couldn’t blame Michelle, she’d been on the receiving end of Maggie’s charm more than once when she’d rolled in with Emma in tow. Some things hadn’t changed when they grew up.

“She was my best friend.” Emma’s voice had changed, suddenly heavier, her gaze fixed blearily on her half drunk pint. The silent grief was like a jab to Patsys chest; the elephant in the room looming in and crushing them both.

Inside Patsy steeled herself. This, she had been expecting at least.

That being said, whether she’d expected it or not, Patsy found that she couldn’t look at Emma at that moment. It hurt, would probably always hurt.

Maggie. The memories and the fact that she wasn’t here was a wound that she’d learned to ignore and it was true to some extent what people said; the pain never went away but it became manageable. A tolerable sore spot she had learned to compensate for. Only now in these moments, when the sore spot was poked and prodded and the thin layer of protective skin pulled away, did it remind her how deep the pain went. How hard it was to bare.

“I know she was.” Patsy told her own glass quietly.

“Five years old. Best friends since we were five years old.” Emma’s voice shook, her knuckles so white around her pint glass that Patsy worried it would shatter in her hand.

Patsys mouth twisted into a tired smile, remembering the old story, told to her in various drunken states of soppiness by both Maggie and Emma over the years. “You wouldn’t see parents getting away with that sort of thing these days. Still can’t believe he put both of you in the boot.”

Emma didn’t laugh, her eyes shone though, her cheeks very white. “Phoebe Dowells sixth birthday party.’ She intoned gravely, determined to tell the whole thing entirely. ‘Every kid in the class got an invite to the party at the posh house; was going to be a bouncy castle and everything. I was so excited I could have pissed myself.”

“I know,’ Patsy chimed in, following the scripts words like an old familiar song, adding in Maggie’s parts effortlessly. ‘And Maggie’s mum got her all dressed up in her best party dress for it.”

Emma smiled thinly, “bloody horrible mustard thing, don’t know what Michael was thinking, at least mine was from that decade. Phoebes dad said he’d pick up all the kids near our roads because it was on his way back from the cake place but there weren’t enough seats in the car for all of us.”

“So he picked up Maggie and when her mum went inside he told her to get in the boot.” Patsy finished wryly.

“In the fucking boot.’ Emma repeated, snorting and shaking her head, ‘would get a fine at least now, not wearing a seatbelt is bad enough. Anyway, he drives round the corner with Maggie bouncing around in the boot and then he picks me up and, lo and behold, there’s still no seats available so he decides not to worry. He does nothing less than pop the boot open and tells me to get in too.’ She raised an indignant eyebrow but her lips twitched. ‘And I peeked inside all gingerly because my dress was new and my mother would have had my hyde if I came home messy and what do I see but that little freak. Lying on her belly, hair looking like haystack with her dress round her middle and her tights all ripped at the knees grinning up at me like she’s having the time of her life.”

“And you thought you’d keep her?” Patsy asked, rolling her eyes and graciously waiting for the inevitable punchline.

“Exactly!’ Emma banged her spare fist down hard on the table which rocked ominously, ‘that’s exactly what I thought. I thought; well, she looks like a laugh, I’ll keep this one and I bloody well did just that.”

“I know.’ Patsy agreed mildly although she didn’t need to say anything else; Emma was at that stage of drunk when nostalgia kicks in. Patsy could practically predict the next half an hours conversation. ‘You were best friends all through primary. You did Scouts together and we’re the first girls in the troop.”

“Got our woggles the exact same day, still got the pictures somewhere.” Emma hiccuped, sipping her drink and somehow missing her mouth.

“And then you went to secondary together. And let’s not forget the debacle when you both got caught cheating in your year 8 maths test. The scandals, the horror. Maggie’s mum always used to talk about it.”

Emma laughed, mopping her front clumsily. “Ahh Michelle never really minded us being naughty and anyway that was Maggie’s bright idea. I was just an innocent bystander.”

Patsy rolled her eyes disbelievingly, easily imagining Maggies answering open mouth of indignation as she hung off the end of the table. That story usually ended in Maggie loudly remarking on the time Emma talked them into bringing frogs back from the park in the hoods of their rain coats. 

“I’d forgotten you were such an innocent. So tell me then, who’s idea was it to shave off your eyebrows and fill them in with blue ink before your leaving assembly after GCSE’s.”

Emma groaned long sufferingly but she couldn’t stop the laugh that ran rough through the air, wagging her finger she shook her head theatrically. 

“Now that was entirely an accident, how was I supposed to know the pen was blue? Mags was the idiot to pick it up anyway. Should have checked it shouldn’t she.”

Patsy flicked a spare coaster at Emma’s hand, it bounced off and landed on the carpet. “Well I’d have thought that at least one of you could have worked out that doing your eyebrows in the dark was a bad idea.”

“We were thirteen, you wouldn’t understand.”

“You were sixteen,’ Patsy corrected knowledgeably. ‘Anyway, why wouldn’t I know? Because I was never thirteen?” Patsy teased wryly.

Emma grinned, disregarding the obvious bait. “Our Mags was always there for a laugh, never been in more trouble than when I was with her though.”

“She got you into good things too,’ Patsy defended automatically, ‘it was her idea to join the police.”

Emma snorted derisively. “Oh yeah, that was all her bright idea and now who’s left to sort through the drunks and get bled all over every other weekend? Muggins over here. I thank her for that particular decision every time it happens; bet she’s pissing herself watching me from up there.” Mirthlessly she pointed a thumb up at the stained ceiling for emphasis.

Patsy shook her head, privately agreeing and then a thought occurred to her and she leaned in, her tone calculating and delicate in equal measure. The beer made her bolder than usual. “Tell me; I’ve always wanted to know, who’s idea was it to practice with each other when you worked out you both liked girls? She’d never own up and tell me.”

Emma, who had been halfway through another sip of beer, choked. Beer sloshed down her front again as she spluttered but she didn’t bother to wipe it away this time. She stared at Patsy, a trickle of beer sliding down her chin. “She told you?” She asked, scandalised.

Patsy laughed, her chest almost cracking as she bent forward with the force of it. Emma’s face was comically shocked. 

“Well we were married Em. Some things just come up in conversation. Anyway I wouldn’t worry, she was always complimentary about it; you had a very light touch.” Patsy couldn’t keep a straight face.

“I can’t believe she told you that.’ Emma tried to scowl but didn’t quite manage it as she finally let go of her pint and scrubbed her face with her hands. The pink of the friction only just hid her blush, ‘and we pinky swore that it would go to the grave too. Bloody Judas.”

Patsy laughed and leaned over to pat Emma’s hand consolingly, “she always said that I should say thank you for teaching her the trade one day; big head that she was.”

Emma’s smile froze for a moment as some thought struck her. She straightened in her seat, coughing. 

“We never did anything after that, you know that right? We were always just friends. It wasn’t- She was more like my sister, too much... The same. If anything we liked the same sorts of girls see.” She squinted at Patsy a little blearily and Patsy wondered, once again, just how much Emma had already drunk before she’d got here.

Patsy shrugged easily, “I know, you two just came as a pair when I met her. I never worried about that, I promise.” And oddly enough she never had. 

Maggie and Emma had just always been friends; a package deal Patsy had inherited. They’d been their own family, a deep bond that Patsy had been lucky enough to be accepted into rather than the other way around. When Patsy had asked offhandedly once why the two of them had never considered being a couple properly Maggie had just chuckled and shook her head still washing up the dishes, the suds dripping down her wrists.

“Me and Emma? God no. Too similar to be together like that. Besides, when we tried it was like kissing my sister, made me feel a bit weird about the whole thing, could never quite relax and she was the same. We’re better off mates.” And that had been that. Patsy hadn’t needed any more said on it, Maggie’s word was enough.

Even so, there had been times when Patsy had been a little jealous. It would have been hard not to be. 

The two of them were so close it was hard not to feel pushed out at times but they’d both always been very good at including Patsy in things and Emma had never treated Patsy as anything but integral to their plans. She supposed that was how people viewed Delia and her now. A pre destined pair designed to meet and work together like one mind.

That was probably why it had hurt so much when Emma stopped talking to her. In one day Patsy had lost her whole family. As a child who’d lost a mother at ten and a sister at sixteen with a father who’s parenting style could only be described as distant she’d been through the process once already. Going through it twice had nearly destroyed her. She wouldn’t survive a third time.

Almost instinctively, Patsy leaned back in her seat, the better to see Emma while staying a little further apart. Some relationships are better severed and left as they are. Picking up the pieces only cut your fingers more.

Emma seemed to sense Patsys withdrawal because she looked up then, her eyes fixed somewhere Patsy couldn’t see.

“That day.” Emma started solemnly, her hand giving away her nerves with its sudden shaking as she reached for her pint, all merriment vanishing abruptly.

Patsys fists clenched under the table, her expression freezing as muscles locked down hard. She didn’t have to ask which day Emma was talking about.

She didn’t want to talk about that day.

“We don’t have to do thi-“ Patsy tried pointlessly, attempting to take the cowards route out but Emma ignored her. Pressing on stoutly.

“That day... She was fine. Picked me up, we clocked in together, signed off for the car together. She was fine Pats... How could she have been fine and then-“ Emma stopped, her breathing ragged as she stared at Patsy, her expression tortured.

Patsy blew a circle of air through her clenched lips slowly. Trying to ignore the pricking behind her eyes.  
Myocardial necrosis. How on Earth did she ever explain it. How could she explain it now, to Emma. 

To that face.

“Not everyone who’s sick looks sick Em.’ Mindlessly Patsys fingers found a damp patch of condensation from her drink puddled on the surface of the table and drew shapes. A square. A triangle. Almost a heart before she changed her mind and switched it to an imperfect pentagon. “Her heart wasn’t right, she was born like it. There was nothing anyone could have done. We couldn’t have saved her.” Not without a fully staffed operating theatre, an experienced cardiac surgeon and a new heart.

Patsy swallowed hard; even knowing that what she was saying was right didn’t make the truth any easier to accept or speak out loud. For the longest time afterwards the idea that something so bizarre, so unexpected could swoop in and take her Maggie away had been just that; entirely and totally unacceptable.

For the first year she’d blamed herself just like Emma had. Patsy was a nurse, she kept people alive, mended things that were broken day in and day out. How had she not known? How had she not noticed? She was a fucking nurse. She was supposed to know these things.

But she hadn’t.

The heart was a muscle just like any other, more bits to it than most, more complex at times but still just a muscle.

Patsy closed her eyes, blocking Emma’s stricken face from view as she saw the diagrams, the endless stream of textbooks on the cardio system drilled into her as a student. One of the seven major anatomical systems. Cardio-vascular, respiratory, skeletal, endocrine, GI and reproductive systems. She knew them, she knew the signs and symptoms of common diseases. Cardio system; heart attacks were common, strokes she’d know without trying, fibrillation were broke beats with frills on; bradycardia, tachycardia and the aggressive and non aggressive cancers. Patsy understood the heart; the symptoms clear and defined.

But Maggie hadn’t presented with any of those symptoms. She’d perhaps complain that her heart was beating too fast after a run but it was never anything obvious or unusual.

Her illness was a quiet catastrophic killer.

Medically speaking it was more sterile and academic. In layman’s terms Maggie had been born without the thick sheath of muscle that surrounded the heart which everyone else did have. That muscle was a scaffolding; a girdle to protect the precious organ and to help it work. Sufferers were rarely detected and even when identified there was little to be done. Either she would die of it or she wouldn’t. Without the thicker band of muscle her heart had been simply covered with the thin outer pericardium membrane that kept the shape of the organ whole. Whole but weak. Even a CT or an MRI wouldn’t pick it up. ECGs rarely found the distinctive inverted T wave unless the heart had begun to decline. It was entirely invisible.

She’d been healthy. Like all of the people who had it. She’d been healthy right up until the moment when she hadn’t been anymore. The string of her life balanced on a gradually thinning thread. The weak sleeve of skin around her heart had, as it always would have to, burst. The paper thin membrane was simply worn away bit by bit with every little time her heartbeat had increased over the course of her life, straining against the pressure until it had finally lost its grip and ripped clean away. The heart had crumbled apart without its scaffolding.

The left half had broken first. Patsy had read the coroners report, she’d noted the precise medical expertise that found the distinctive markers and evidence. They’d been clear in their explanation.  
The valves had been unable to pump blood effectively away from the heart, the entire structure leaning as it had been, unable to create the adequate tension to thrust blood through the thick arterial tubes it had become swollen and shapeless. 

There wasn’t any way to prevent the returning blood to continue to come in though, trapped, filling the heart like a water balloon strapped to a strong tap until it couldn’t take anymore. The organs remaining internal muscle walls had eventually split and burst under unprecedented volume and her chest cavity had filled with blood. The right side had followed near seconds after doubling the torrent; draining her. Without oxygenated blood coming in and the remaining source draining away by the second her brain and vital organs had failed. She’d died.

When Patsy had finally gathered the courage to understand these things in greater detail she’d asked one of the cardiac surgeons. The consultant had been a kind man, he’d tried to be delicate but Patsy had demanded to know all of it. She’d needed to know all of it.

Knowledge, she had always found, allowed one to understand. It was a tool she could use easily. Without understanding she wouldn’t be able to move on.

It takes an adult human two minutes to bleed out when catastrophic bleeding occurs. There are about 5 litres of blood in any person in one go. Putting those facts together Maggie would have been bleeding she’d have been losing 41.6 ml per second. She’d done the sums herself to double check. To make sure she knew all of it.

Such a small amount considering what it powered. Such a small amount of time. All Patsy hoped was that it wasn’t long enough to fully realise what was happening. To prevent any horror or fear. To hope she was peaceful.

The initial tear would have felt like a missed heart beat. Maggie might not have even registered that it was happening to her.

Extremities failed first, always. The body cuts off the main supply of healthy blood to all but the vital organs. She’d have felt numb, perhaps clumsy but she wouldn’t have been in pain. You need blood to make the nerves hurt and there wasn’t any left.  
After a minute the body entered hypoxia; brain cells began to die. She’d have been confused then but still not in pain. Some people had even described hypoxia as funny; people laughed. Patsy hoped Maggie didn’t; it would make it worse somehow.

The surgeon said it would have taken five minutes from the final missed beat to death. A painless and quick event compared to many others that Patsy had witnessed over the years through work but no less horrifying.

She still hated cardio cases, had avoided them for years before becoming a midwife. The idea that such an organ could simply fail never seemed to go away.

Losing Maggie had taught Patsy a valuable lesson; at any point the people you love can be taken. The universe didn’t care about anyone.

It could happen again.

That fear drove her to insanity at times. The stark knowledge of how transient, how inescapable pain was.

Pig being born had nearly broken her.

Delia had been forced to intervene in the end then; keeping Patsy from panicking completely at the smallest coughs and sneezes but she’d only been able to do so much. Some nights Patsy would sit in Pigs room for hours, comforting herself from nightmares of empty cots and mortuary papers as she watched the steady cadence of her daughters chest rising and falling. But even that hadn’t been enough proof. Patsy had demanded the hospital complete a full ECG the day her girl was born, had checked the sheet herself to make sure. She still panicked when Pig asked her to come to her sports day. She hated baths being too hot; the flush on the white skin and the inevitable internal battle as her heart was forced to beat harder. 

The fear that lightning could strike twice was too real. If anything happened to Delia or Pig then Patsy wouldn’t-

“But she was fine.’ Emmas interrupting voice was insistent, almost angry; at Maggie or Patsy or herself or the whole world Patsy couldn’t tell. ‘She was talking and acting normal. If there was something wrong how could she not know that? How is that possible?”

Patsy opened her eyes slowly and saw that Emma was close to crying. The bond they’d shared, no matter how broken still afforded Patsy the ability to pity Emma now. She understood it too much.

Against her better judgement Patsy scooted round the booth until they were side by side and wound her arm around Emma’s. Emma let go of her drink and held onto Patsys hand like it was a life raft, her thumb pressing into Patsys knuckles clumsily.

“When-‘ Patsy had to stop, forcing herself to think. She’d told people many times how their loved ones had died but it was so much harder talking about Maggie. Especially to Emma who might be the only other person in the world who would feel the pain just as much. ‘When a child is born with Maggie’s condition they can make it to forty if their lucky. Most don’t though, they die in infancy and their death is put down to SIDS or something else.’ 

Around her hand Emma’s had tightened, squeezing hard. ‘Maggie was one of the lucky ones, she made it to her twenties without any issues but it was like a bomb waiting to go off. It was her time; whether we knew it or were ready for it or not. It’s no ones fault.”

“But I let her go after that guy.’ Emma went on wretchedly, as though she had to lay it all out like a confession. ‘We’d boxed his car in and he ran down the road. I should have gone after him, I was faster but Mags, she wasn’t even on the right side but she took the collar before I could stop her. I watched her go. I let her go.’ She corrected herself bitterly. 

‘Should have gone with her. She was halfway down the street, almost had him, I thought she had got him and then-‘ Emma was crying now, tears dripping down her cheeks, ‘she fell. All sudden like and she was down. She just fell over and he kept running. I waited for her to get up but she stayed where she was. Laying face down in the road and I thought she’d hit her head or something so I walked down to see what was wrong.’ Emma thrust her spare hand on her lap agitated. ‘I walked. I should have ran and I fucking walked Pats. I didn’t know.’

In her mind Patsy could see it, Maggie’s legs ceasing to work as the muscles lost their power. The pub felt suddenly very cold and Patsy couldn’t make herself unfreeze.

‘By the time I got to her she was breathing so hard. I thought it was all the good eating she’d been doing and she was just getting out of shape. I laughed at her, told her she needed to hit the gym a bit more.’ Emma’s lips curled in disgust at herself, her legs bouncing underneath the table and hitting the wood with fast rhythmic thumps. 

‘It was only when I turned her over that I knew something was wrong; it was her face. Her face was like nothing I’d seen. Her skin was yellow and when I reached for them her hands were freezing and sweaty and all the while she just kept sucking in air like she was drowning.’

Patsy didn’t need to hear this. Didn’t want to. She’d done the maths and she’d read the report and she’d spoken to a specialist. Clinically she understood. She didn’t want to know about the reality. The details.

Emma didn’t stop though.

‘I thought she’d been stuck with something; got too close to our guy and he’d stabbed her so I was patting her down, looking for a wound but there wasn’t anything. She wasn’t bleeding and I couldn’t understand what was happening but I knew it was bad. I kept telling her it would be alright, she just needed to catch her breath and she’d feel better but then she went all still. I hadn’t realised how badly she was jerking around until then and it nearly made me fall on top of her I was that close. She’d stopped breathing and it was so quiet, I could hear cars in the road and horns and sirens far off. She looked at me Pats,’ Emma turned her face to Patsys, the quiet memory burning in her eyes.

‘She looked at me so intently I thought she must have gotten over whatever it was. I asked her if she was better, if she was alright. She never said a word, not one word to me and then she just... smiled and she closed her eyes.’ Emmas whole body shook and Patsy couldn’t stop herself leaning in, ignoring her own tears. 

‘She wouldn’t wake up. I kept shaking her but she wouldn’t open her eyes. I called her, I told her that she better not be going anywhere without my permission but she didn’t wake up. I would have given anything to make her wake up, I would have swapped places. Anything but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t come back not even with me beating her chest like the clappers and screaming at her. The paramedics had to wrestle me off and I still thought they might bring her back. Kept telling them to give her something, a shot or a shock or anything. I couldn’t believe it when they said she’d gone. She was only alive a few minutes before. How can that happen? How is that fair?”

Patsy put her cheek on Emma’s shoulder, letting Emma calm down, the two of them almost forgetting that they were in a pub. In London even.  
Perhaps they weren’t. In Patsys mind she was sitting in a road. Watching Maggie die all over again.

She wished Delia was here. She wanted to watch Pig breathe. To know they were alright.

After a few minutes Emma sniffed apologetically, wiping her sore eyes on the cuff of her shirt. “I’m sorry, you didn’t need to hear all that.”

“It’s alright.’ Patsy lied hoarsely, ‘I’m glad you told me. I never knew exactly how it happened, you... You weren’t in the right position to tell me when you came and found me.” And Patsy hadn’t been in the right mind frame to take in details. The bigger picture had been pain enough.

“I miss her so much sometimes I can’t say. She was my best friend.” Emma admitted a little more composed, her arm loosening a bit so she could settle it more comfortably over Patsys shoulder.

“I know,’ Patsy said, still not quite able to master her desire to curl into a ball and cry. ‘I miss her too.”

She’d probably always miss Maggie, there was no avoiding it. They hadn’t had enough time, it hadn’t ended organically or come to a natural parting of ways. She’d been taken and in doing so she would always represent the greatest what if in Patsys life. She’d never know how it might have gone and she had to live with it for good or bad.

She’d never have met Delia. She’d never have raised Pig.

Then again maybe they’d have had their own children. Some different life she could barely imagine.

Oddly enough both ideas left her feeling guilty. Guilt that in loving her new family she was displacing Maggie. And guilt with considering what she might have had with Maggie that she was being disloyal to Delia. The realisation was a sobering one.

Patsy stared sightlessly at their table. Not quite able to think about anything at all.

“And then there’s you.” Emma said glumly.  
Patsy blinked and frowned up at Emma’s blotchy face. “Me? What about me?” She felt a little nervous at the words. Guilty for something she couldn’t name.  
Emma sniffed and her hand rubbed a few circles on Patsys shoulder. “Pats, I’m sorry. I was a dick to you. At the funeral and after. I was a bitch, worse than that.”

“Oh, that.’ Patsy relaxed again, waving her hand weakly. ‘It’s fine, it doesn’t matter. Really. I get it.”

“No,’ Emma shook her head stubbornly, ‘it does matter! I should have been there. I should have been your person and I wasn’t. I left you to deal with it all on your own. I’m sorry, for all of it. Blaming you for not knowing and calling you out in front of everyone at the wake like that. Mags would have been spinning in her grave if she knew. She’d have definitely kicked my arse if she’d been there.”

Patsy smiled darkly. “Well if she’d been there to see it then you wouldn’t have done it, would you?’ She shrugged stiffly, trying to bring back the jovial mood that had slunk out of the room at the mention of Maggie’s end. ‘It’s probably time to let go of the guilt Em, it’s making you look old.”

Emma snorted, her knuckles white as she clutched at her now empty pint glass. The attempt at a joke didn’t seem to have worked. “I feel old. Nothings been right since Mags died. I should have done things differently. I should have been there for you.”

“But you weren’t and it’s done now.’ Patsy finished the sentence firmly ignoring the ghost of the pain as it shivered hard against her breast bone. ‘And there’s simply no point in us going through it all over again and again. You had to do what you had to do and so did I. Maybe that was the right thing and maybe it wasn’t but the fact is we’ll never know for sure and in the meantime life’s had to keep carrying on. You can’t continuously torture yourself over something that can’t be changed, it’s not healthy Em.”

“I deserve to be tortured.” Emma ran her fingers threw her short hair, the white stubs of her knuckles rising through the dark strands like whales coming up to the sea surface for air.

Patsy chuckled, unable to stop herself. Emma looked so forlorn she felt her old anger dissolve somehow. It was impossible to stay angry with Emma; not like this. She’d done the right thing to come tonight, she knew that now, even if Delia was angry she wouldn’t have changed events now that she’d actually seen Emma. Patsy understood the confusion, had felt it in the pain of her own grief and it was shocking to see that Emma still hadn’t been able to move on from it.

Shaking her head at the strange way life altered Patsy downed the last dregs of her pint. “Fine, I’ll torture you a bit.’ She teased brightly, bumping her elbow into Emma’s side. ‘You can get the rest of the drinks for the night and we’ll call it even. Deal?”

Emma blinked, it looked like hard work to think as she processed the offer and then smiled. A real smile this time. The old proper moon faced smile that made her look like a four year old.

No dimples though. It wasn’t fair to compare the two women so obviously Patsy knew but even so, the smile seemed lacking somehow. Not for the first time tonight Patsy wished that Delia was here with her. So that Delia could see the whys, could know for certain that there was nothing to worry about.

She’d have known what to say to Emma too, Delia was always better at the emotional things, she’d have known how to lift the melancholy before Patsy had even understood the need. Delia was always better at being kind. 

She was a better nurse than Patsy would ever be for that, then again Patsy had always been the more practical and logical of the two of them. That was why they’d made a great team when they’d worked together; each individual filling out the others weaker areas, pushing one another to be the better version of themselves.

It was like that now too. But bigger; more complete.

Patsy wondered who she’d have been if they hadn’t met. If Delia hadn’t known to push her way into Patsys life. If she hadn’t known in her own way how to make Patsy let some of her guard down enough to allow Delia room to help her heal.

Would Patsy have been like Emma? Would she ever have learned how to get up and start again? Would she have even wanted to?

The answer was obvious and the guilt chewed at her again.

She’d done it all wrong earlier, wasn’t thinking and just bloody minded. She couldn’t just leave it like that, they couldn’t keep living like this. She couldn’t do this like they were anymore.

The certainty of that realisation was better than beer. It was a whole other sort of warmth. A sense of relief, an end to the charade in sight. It was time to deal with this head on. Time to call them both out.

The ridiculously proportioned huge gilt clock on the other wall said it was fifteen minutes past nine. Patsy tried to calculate how long Emma would need her. Another hour? Two tops.

Pig would be in bed when she got back but Delia would be awake surely. Then again if she wasn’t then it didn’t matter. Patsy would wake her up, she’d slide in beside her and she’d tell her the truth. All of it.

She couldn’t just be Delia’s friend, she needed it to be more. She needed Delia to understand. To realise that this wasn’t normal. They could be a family. A real family.

And if Delia didn’t want that...

Patsys fingers curled and uncurled around one another like snakes. Snarling into knots as she wavered anxiously. The image of Delia pushing her away. Telling her to leave.

Inside her chest Patsys heart stuttered, the muscles between her ribs tightening until she had to force herself to breathe. The bleakness of that possibility was so sharp, so real that it hurt her head. The colours bleaching from the horrible pink pub walls.

Patsy was staring at her hands when Emma shuffled off to try and push her way through the throng of patrons at the bar. Her phone was on the table but the screen had stayed stubbornly blank.

There had been no texts from Delia.

Patsys fingers curled, itched to send something, anything.

I miss you. I didn’t mean it. I don’t mean it. You have nothing to worry about.

But Delia probably wouldn’t want to hear it tonight. Would be too angry.

“We’re just roommates.”

She’d seemed far too comfortable with the idea that Patsy was sleeping with other people. Did that mean.... No. Patsys mind rejected that thought at once. Delia would have told her if she was seeing someone else.

Even so, her eyes looked at the clock again a little more restlessly. Perhaps she wouldn’t take too long before heading home.

Patsy was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t hear Emma when she asked her a question. She jumped when Emma’s arm fell around her shoulders again heavily and she looked up realising that Emma was surprisingly close still.

“I said,’ Emma repeated, her voice more slurred now as she tipped back her new drink. Somehow halfway through another pint already. ‘Are you alright Pats?” As she spoke she watched Patsy muzzily, one eye closed and the other focused frowning on Patsys face.

Patsy nodded automatically. “Me? Yeah, fine. Why?”

Emma reached down and tucked a stray piece of hair out of Patsys eyes behind her ear. “I just...’ she wobbled in her chair, more drunk than not, ‘I never asked the question did I? Midwife? That’s a change.”

Patsy smiled softly, quietly proud. “Yeah, it’s different and hard work sometimes but I love it. It’s better than general nursing.”

“You’re happy then, you don’t need anything?” Emma’s face was keen and a little blurred at the edges.

Patsy realised that Emma wasn’t the only one who needed to slow down, how much had they had? Four pints? She glanced down at the waiting fifth and decided on small sips from now.

“I’m happy,’ she confirmed muzzily, ‘it’s not what I planned but it’s good. I’ve got people I love.”

This caught Emma’s attention at least, “you’ve got a girlfriend?”

Patsy frowned, the sticky label quandary making its presence known. “Not, not exactly no,’ She said truthfully although the truth wasn’t exactly right, ‘my friends boyfriend left her and she was having a baby so they moved in.’ Patsy laughed, ‘Pigs seven this year so I mustn’t be that bad company.”

“Pig?” Emma looked like she doubted her own ears.

Patsy grinned and picked up her phone almost excited now, scrolling for her photos. “Enfys. Enfys Busby actually, Pigs just my nickname, her mums called Delia.’ 

Proudly Patsy passed her phone over to show off a picture of her girls sat in the living room a few weeks ago. Pig was braiding Delias hair and Delia was trying to drink a Horlicks without spilling it on the carpet. No small feat. Patsys feet were just in frame on Delias lap. Patsy beamed down at her family. ‘She’s a cracker, got my brains I reckon and Delias an amazing mum. She’s... They’re ...’ Even through her drunkenness Patsy could hear the coo in the voice, fumbling for the right word, ‘they’re my world. Don’t know what I’d do without them.”

Emma wasn’t really listening, frowning down at the picture. “You painted the living room?” Was all she seemed to have noted with interest.

Patsy blinked non plussed but nodded, “yeah, a few years ago. I mean Delia chose the colours really, I just did it but we like it. Makes it warmer.”

“Maggie would have liked it.” Emma approved gruffly, handing the phone back too fast.

“Yeah.’ Patsy wasn’t sure what to say to that, a little offended that Emma didn’t seem that interested in Delia or Pig. If she’d have had hackles they would have started rising as she stared at her old friend.

“Delias a nurse too.’ Patsy went on stubbornly, refusing to let it lie. ‘She’s from Pembrokeshire originally and I swear her accent helps calm down the worried patients so much better than me. She’s funny too, really witty. You’d like her.”

“I hope she’s paying rent,’ Emma said a little grumpily, ‘wouldn’t want to think you were being taken for a ride.”

The sentiment, too close to Delias own warnings annoyed Patsy. She scowled. “She does. More than I need her too.”

“Well, she’d better. Not having you living a shit life for someone’s bad decisions. You’re not paying for the kid too are you?”

Patsys teeth clenched. “As a matter of fact I think of her as my own. I don’t keep score, not that it’s your business.”

Reading the tone correctly Emma raised her hands apologetically. “Okay, I get it. You’ve always been a softy around kids, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you.”

Patsy, who hadn’t noticed any self interest in children in herself before Pigs arrival shrugged, only slightly mollified. “I mean it Emma. They’re important to me, they’re... They’re my family now.” 

It didn’t seem like a good enough speech. If she could describe it in a sane way she supposed it would be like a stamp. A mark pushed all the way through her bones of ownership and belonging. Love. They owned Patsy more thoroughly than even Maggie had accomplished simply because they were so unequivocally hers. She’d found another home and, maybe now with enough beer she could think it at least, it was the best one she’d found. The last one she’d hold on to.

Emma sighed and drained her latest pint clearly thinking about something else. “And you’re set up okay?’ She asked a little hesitantly, ‘you don’t need anything, money or bits doing in the house I mean. I know I haven’t pulled my weight much but I can fix that. I owe it to you and Mags and I’m always handy with little bits of DIY.”

Patsy smiled, the enmity forgotten and shook her head. “No, I don’t need anything.” Through the haze a thought she’d barely registered tugging at her brain finally broke through. It was Emma’s arm, still held around her shoulders but it suddenly felt different. Looking around Patsy wondered what someone would think if they saw them.

The guilt flowered again and she fidgeted in her seat, not sure how to politely move away.

Emma’s face was soft and very close, her fingers trailed Patsys shoulder lightly. “You look nice by the way, did I tell you?”

The abrupt change of topic jarred somewhat and Patsy looked down at herself almost surprised to remember that she’d dress up at all. She fidgeted again uncomfortable now. Trixies warnings whispering in her ears. 

“Just something I had stuffed back in the wardrobe, I’d forgotten about to be honest.”

“You always did dress nice, thought that first time I met you.”

Patsy wasn’t sure if she was blushing or not but Emma’s lips quirked at the edges so she supposed she must be. She tried to lean back, to force space but Emma’s arm was stronger than she’d remembered. Trapped for the moment Patsy picked up her phone and fiddled with the buttons.

“I was wearing a uniform when we first met, hardly something nice.” She scoffed, going for light and airy though she was too drunk to achieve anything of the sort.

Emma sighed tiredly and closed her eyes. “I never let her forget that I saw you first. You were out with me when she stole you.”

Patsy rolled her eyes again, aware that they were edging to safer territory, the old gripe that always used to crop up when Emma and Mags were drunk. 

“It wasn’t really a full date, just a drink and anyway, I’m not a dog or a car. She didn’t steal me, we were just better matched. That’s all.”

Emma closed her eyes at that as though she was tired. “True again... But I still saw you first. You said yes to me first. I remember that... Do you ever wonder... If Mags hadn’t turned up what could have happened?”

Emma’s arm slipped off Patsys shoulders and Patsy was certain that Emma would pass out soon. She wasn’t sure what she thought about Emma’s capacity for beer. It was true that Emma had always liked an odd pint but going in tonight’s standards, that seemed to have changed. Patsy hoped that her drunkenness was more due to nerves than habit. If not then Emma needed to cut down.

A quick look at the clock told Patsy that it was home time and another second glance at Emma’s slumped form said that she’d need a taxi for two.  
Emma came too a bit more outside in the chilly night air while they waited for the cab. Patsy urged Emma to go home first, her place apparently being closer but Emma was stubborn and insisted on making sure Patsy got home safely under her supervision.

Patsy relented mainly because Emma’s shouting was making the cabby uneasy and calling another one at this time would make a longer wait. They got in together and Emma, definitely more alert now, bounced next to Patsy as the short drive meandered through tight alleys before they hit the one way system.

Drunk as she was it didn’t escape Patsys notice that Emma’s hand which had started out innocently on her knee for balance when they had first climbed in kept creeping up as they jolted about. 

When the offending limb reached the edge of her dress Patsy clamped her own down on top of it. Glancing at Emma’s face she raised her eyebrows challenging her to an explanation. Emma only winked but didn’t move.

Five minutes later and Patsy could see her familiar front door with some relief. The lights were all off upstairs but Delia had left the downstairs landing light on.

Fumbling only a bit Patsy paid the driver her share and scooted out. She only realised that Emma was following behind her when Emma’s arm strapped around her waist and she looked up, surprised.

“You’re going to run up a big tab, honestly I’m a big girl, I really don’t need escorting inside Em.” She admonished, her hands reaching into her bag for her door keys.

Emma plucked the keys out of Patsys hands cockily and shut the cab door, waving the driver off. “Oh come on,’ she grinned, ‘I’ve not been here for years. You wouldn’t really not invite me in for a bit of sight seeing now would you?”

Patsy chewed her lip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ She offered sheepishly all too aware of Delias parting dig about bringing someone home with her, ‘Pigs going to be asleep and I don’t want to wake Delia up.” Although, that being said if Delia did meet Emma then she’d see they were just old friends.

She might even apologise for earlier.

“Ahh I’ll be quiet, I don’t want to cause any trouble. Just wouldn’t mind having a look at the place again, lot of good memories.” Emma wheedled, eyes wide and innocent.

Patsy teetered and then gave in; showcasing that inside every human being there is an inner lemming gene waiting to kick in at inopportune moments and throw itself off any available tall ledges.

She opened the door as quietly as she could and the two of them crept through the house towards the kitchen. Emma stopping occasionally to peer off into all the rooms. 

Patsy reached the kettle first and flicked it on before slumping into the nearest table chair and kicked off her shoes. She couldn’t feel the full extent of the throbbing now but a ginger inspection of her toes told her that she would tomorrow. She wouldn’t bother with those heels again, bloody agony every time she wore them.

Emma was inspecting the kitchen interestedly, her hand grazing the cupboard.

“You bought a new fridge.’ she noted absently.

Patsy rubbed the sole of her foot with her knuckle. “Yeah, the old one blew out about three months after Maggie died. I got a little one when it was just me but we got that one just before Pig was born.”

“And you’ve painted the hallway.” Emma noted again.

Patsy laughed, letting her foot drop back to the floor. “We had to, the first time Pig got hold of sharpies she managed to draw a whole castle around the radiator. Couldn’t get it off so we painting over it. That’s her height chart over there.” 

Patsy pointed proudly at a mess of black lines by the cellar door that started somewhere around knee height and dawdled upwards slowly.

Emma followed Patsys direction and smirked. “The kids seven? She must be tiny.”

Patsy grinned back. “Less than average maybe. She gets that from her mother, I don’t think any Busby in the world has ever been able to reach the top shelf.”

Patsy recalled Delias face when she’d made a similar point a few months ago. She’d scowled and informed Patsy firmly that everyone was the same size laying down so it didn’t matter. 

Patsys mind followed this trail to the evening afterwards when Delia had decided to live up to her word. An electric hum jolted down the backs of her wrists and she bit her lip. She wondered if she should go and wake Delia up now; leave Emma to her cup of tea and to let herself out. She wondered how long it would take for Emma to go away.

In her current mood Patsy wasn’t really interested in the past at the moment and all it’s faded glory and pain, she was more focused on the present. Or as much of the present as could be found in Delias bedroom tonight at least.

The kettle ruined the less than PG ideas in her mind when it flicked off and Patsy watched bemused as Emma reacted first; pulling out mugs and spoons from the drawer with familiar ease. She used Delias mug for herself Patsy realised a moment too late, the sight seeming oddly unsettling and she opened her mouth to tell Emma to choose something different before shaking off the odd compulsion. It was just a mug. She’d wash up when Emma had gone home.

Which would be soon hopefully.

Tea made Emma placed it in front of the table impressively only spilling its contents a little bit. Patsy tried to mop up the brown puddle with her fingers but the effect left a horrible smudge of water. It would probably stain if she didn’t get a cloth.

Cloths were a long way away at the moment though.

When Emma sat beside her she put her head on Patsys shoulder her eyes closed.

“Is the room spinning or it just me?” Emma asked, breathing hard through her nose.

Patsy tried to reach for her mug. It was difficult. There was the possibility of three all blurring together in front of her eyes. “It’s you.”

Emma laughed, her eyes shut and sighed leisurely. “‘S nice, being like this. We’ve had some good times you and me.”

Patsy could feel her own eyes drooping shut. “And some less good times.” She murmured idly. Tired.

“Me and Maggie had an agreement about you, did you know that? ‘S funny. Never thought it would actually happen.”

Behind Patsys eyelids little red dots danced against the glow of the kitchen spotlights. “What agreement?”

“To take care of you.’ Emma mumbled almost incoherent. ‘You and me. We could be something really, really...’ She paused, shaking her head to try and wake up, ‘good.” She finished weakly.

Patsy had to think about that for a moment, the words sewing together weirdly inside her head. When the meaning finally registered she opened her eyes and found that Emma was watching her intently from half an inch away.

Ignoring Patsys surprise she reached to stroke Patsys cheek with a sticky index finger.

“I saw you first.’ Emma whispered, her sour breath fanning across Patsys mouth, ‘I think you and me... We could really make each other happy again.”

Patsy frowned, detaching her face with a jerk. “Emma that’s nuts.”

“Is it? Don’t you think some things happen for a reason?” Emma asked, suddenly not quite as drunk as she’d seemed.

Patsy shook her head hard, her ears aching. 

“Maggie dying is not a reason.”

“But I know you. Better than anyone else.”

Patsy tried to think but all she could think about was Delia. 

She shook her head again, “not anymore. You don’t know me anymore.”

Drawing closer, too close Emma’s took a hard hold of Patsys wrists. “You’ve got to know that I always liked you-“

“Patsy!”

As though she’d been waiting for the call Patsys head snapped around, her cheeks burning to find Pig standing in the doorway staring at them with narrowed eyes.

“Pig.” Patsys call was both a warning and a distress flare.

Beside Patsy Emma straightened up, trying to identify the sound of the disturbance. When she spotted Pig she relaxed slightly though, her mouth settling into a stupid smile that adults who don’t understand children often employ to make themselves seem friendly. From Pigs unimpressed response the look would still need some work.

“Mam said she’d left you some dinner in the microwave.” Pig edged into the room, stepping around Emma in a wide circle but not taking her eyes off the stranger as she came to stand beside Patsy, her hand reaching to hold Patsys knee. Small nails biting into the flesh.

Patsy reached out gratefully and pulled Pig onto her lap, holding her tightly against her chest. “Oh I’m not that hungry but thanks. You should meet my friend; Emma this is Pig, Pig this is Emma. She was your aunty Maggie’s best friend.” She garbled in a rush.

Emma seemed slightly confused by the events but rallied, increasing the wattage in her grin as she leaned down. “So you’re the owner of the height chart? You don’t look that small to me.” She complemented, trying for favour.

Pig raised her eyebrows. Not quite too young to notice a back handed compliment. Crossing her arms and giving such a good impression of her grandmother that it was unnerving she gazed at Emma. “My mam says the number don’t matter; I’m tall for my height.” She replied firmly, emphasising the words ‘my mam’ with solid finality.

Emma’s forehead creased, possibly not understanding the joke. “Well... That’s good?” She asked Patsy uncertainly.

Patsy grinned, pressing her cheek on the soft top of Pigs head. “You should definitely be asleep.” She told Pig easily.

Pig squirmed, twisting around and glowered up at Patsy, annoyance making her reel off her thoughts. “I wasn’t tired. Its not a school night so I shouldn’t have to go to bed that early and anyway mam told me off because I didn’t finish the homework and anyway I was reading my book and anyway why were you going to kiss that lady?”

The last question cracked through the air like a whip. As one, both Patsy and Emma took a deep breath. They’d both understood that one loud and clear.

Patsys mouth dried up, beside her Emma coughed gently and all the while Pig stared up at Patsy steadily.

Patsy tried to think fast. “Kissing?’ She tried to make the word sound ridiculous, her face screwing up. ‘Don’t be silly. I wasn’t going to kiss anybody. We were just talking.”

“Like you talk to my mam?” Pigs question would have been innocent except for the slight dry tone that slipped in.

Emma leaned in, apparently deciding that this moment needed to get worse. “Don’t like kissing eh? I wouldn’t worry kid, your teeth don’t really fall out, it’s just a myth.”

Pig blinked coldly at Emma, clearly disgusted by the insinuation. “I don’t think you should be in my kitchen, I heard my mam ask Patsy not to let you in.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘And you smell funny.”

Patsy winced. Well, fuck. That was going to be another conversation for another day; bluntness was definitely an Eileen trait. Rudeness too.

From the shocked look on Emma’s face she was rapidly turning offended. In preparation Patsys arms tightened around Pigs waist.

Deciding that this road could only lead to a dead end or a very nasty drop she jumped to another one. “What film did you watch tonight?”

Pig considered this, distracted. “It was horrible, Mam was grumpy and she didn’t let me watch the end of the film like she said she would.” The complaint was clearly intended for Patsy to deliver on her behalf by proxy in the morning.

Patsy pursed her lips, desperately trying to be interested while her face burned; Emma had shifted, her eyes narrowed. “What was the film?”

“Annie.”

Ahh. Delia didn’t like that one so that was probably why. “Well,’ Patsy tried to peace keep, smoothing off any potential ruffled feathers, ‘maybe mam was just tired. She’s been working this week.”

“Nope. Definitely not tired.’ For the last time that evening, unless they had someone living in the roof that they weren’t aware of, another voice joined the conversation. In contrast to all the others this one was flat and quite deadly.

In fact it was the voice of someone who has found an interesting metal pin cast away on the ground and is now ready to wait and find out where the rest of the grenade had got to.

With some ceremony Delia stepped into the room, face deceptively calm as she tied the cords of Patsys dressing gown around her waist, looking at the scene, taking in Patsy first and then Emma the pair of them still guiltily sat side by side. Patsy had no idea when she’d woken up.

Or how long she’d been listening.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

For some insane reason Patsy found herself giggling nervously, the panic making it sound more choked than it needed to be. When Delia caught her eye she stopped immediately and attempted to sculpt her features into the image of a very apologetic mourner.

“You,’ Delia said heavily pointing at Pig with an accusing finger, syllables twanging with stress, ‘go to bed Cariad. It’s far too late for you to be here now.”

Pig fidgeted under the unusually stern expression of her mother and turned to Patsy for support.

Patsy tried to speak, realised her throat wasn’t working and coughed loudly to clear it. Then tried again. “She must have heard us come in, it’s not her fault. She was curious.”

Delia was leaning against the fridge, arms folded while a lone foot tapped on the floor tiles. “I imagine that she was.’ She said through thin tight lips, not looking directly at Patsy in any way, ‘I imagine half the street heard you come in. In fact I’m not sure how much louder the pair of you could have been.”

Emma decided once again that this was her moment to join in the discussion. Rising to her feet she extended a rather forceful hand out for Delia to shake. “Emma Wallace, you must be the roommate. Delia right? Nice to meet you.”

Patsy didn’t dare breathe. The house suddenly so quiet that they could all hear a dog barking far away. 

Delias expression blanked for a moment and then froze, the chill of her disdain emanating out and spreading through the room at large, Patsy wouldn’t have been surprised to see icicles appear along Emma’s exposed palm.

“That’s right. I’m the roommate.’ Delia answered slowly, her eyes fixed on Emma’s arm for just too many seconds to be comfortable before her neck snapped up and she glared back at Pig. ‘Enfys Busby ewch i'ch ystafell!”

Bed time for the six year old.

Pig groaned, going limp in Patsys arm but her mother’s unexpectedly sharp barked order wasn’t one she’d dare ignore given the rising tension in the room. She slid off Patsy and walked gingerly around Emma.

She was still too slow for her mother’s preferences apparently though because Delia quickly clapped her hands together hard, chivying Pig on. “Now Cariad!” She barked again so loudly that it made Emma jump and Pig run up the stairs. 

Patsy wished she could go with her.

Rather trapped for the moment she tried to edge her chair further away from Emma’s but the tiles caught on the chair legs and her body wasn’t helping; one too many pints leaving her legs less than cooperative. They all listened to the thump of small feet evacuating the scene.

Patsy realised that she needed to say something, was aware of the space she should be filling but the look on Delias face was one she’d never seen before. Angry wasn’t even enough of a descriptor. 

Her face was white with suppressed rage but she straightened up and squared herself towards Emma, ignoring the still dubiously offered limb she addressed Emma curtly but politely. “Very nice to meet you Emma, I’m sure, although I’ll admit I’ve not heard the best things in the past about you. It would have been better if you’d have come at a more acceptable time though.”

Patsy who had been hovering uselessly in the periphery spotted her inelegant opening. “Emma just wanted to see the house, she used to be here a lot before Maggie died.”

Delia made a snapping sound with her jaw and her face tilted to stare at Patsy. “And does Emma also understand that waking up a whole house is nothing less than plain rude or was that your idea too?” She enquired with all the sweetness of a diabetic in a coma.

Patsy stared down at her feet, ashamed and more than a bit frightened at the detachedness in Delias expression.

“That was my idea,’ Emma butted in unhelpfully once again. Patsy considered how likely it would be that she could subtly stick her entire fist in the woman’s mouth to stop her, ‘we were going to split a cab but I talked her into letting me have a look round the old place. Used to do it all the time when Maggie was around. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

A muscle tightened in Delias jaw as she took a slow breath in, trying to make herself calmer. “Yes, well, from what I understand you’ve got a habit of not considering the damage you do so I’m not surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emma’s mouth twisted and her eyes narrowed. The offence at Pigs earlier jab clearly helping her on the way to argumentative without much provocation.

Delia clicked her tongue, her stare by rights should have pinned Emma to the back wall. “The obvious I should think. After everything you did to Patsy you’ve got one hell of a nerve asking anything from her. What does she owe you exactly? You should have stayed where you were.”

“That’s not any of your business.” Emma retorted, clearly offended.

Delia snorted. “Not my business? Doubtful. You broke her, you humiliated her at her own wife’s funeral. Have you got any idea the kind of damage you did when you did that? That’s something I consider to be entirely my business. You’re lucky I wasn’t there when you showed up at the hospital. Cachgi!”

Coward Patsys brain translated sluggishly.

Emma was standing up to her full height, wobbling as she stepped up into Delias space. Although she was taller than Delia by half a foot she still looked smaller somehow. The sheer volume of Delias infuriation rendering her something of a giant in this tete a tete. “What did you just call me?”

Patsy had had enough, forcefully shoving Emma backwards she stood in front of Delia one hand outstretched to stop Emma’s return.

“Emma, Delia’s right, I think you should go now. It’s late. It was mistake coming in.”

“Oh, you think.” Delia interrupted harshly, unseen somewhere behind Patsys back.

Emma looked bemused. “Pats, come on.’ She wheedled, non plussed. ‘We were having a good night.”

“But you should still go Em. I’ll call you a cab.”

Emma blinked, annoyance replacing the surprise as she leaned closer, cutting Delia out of the conversation. “Pats, she can’t tell you who you can have here. This is your house.”

Wincing, Patsy felt Delia pull around her. “This is my house too and even if it wasn’t there’s a child in the house.” She challenged fiercely, her chin pointing up, arms pinned to her sides.

Emma’s lips curled, her teeth out. “I think you’ll find that this house belonged to Maggie. Not my fault you can’t keep your kid where it’s meant to be. You’re just wasting her space.”

Patsy tensed, waiting for the explosion but nothing came.

Instead Delia took an unsteady step backwards, hands jerking to hold her throat as though she’d been physically struck. Her back bumped hard into Patsys chest and Patsy automatically tried to wrap her arms around Delia, to keep her standing. Delia shrugged her off, her face hidden as she stalked towards the stairs.

“Delia, that’s not-“ Patsy blundered anxiously but Delia was shaking her head, walking back to the hall in sharp steps.

“I don’t care... I’m going to bed.’ She told the empty space away from her, voice shaking with some suppressed emotion.

Patsy flinched at every step on the stairs, utterly exhausted. When Delia had gone she turned to stare at Emma disbelievingly. “What the fuck did you just do?” She asked incredulously.

Emma looked just as angry. “Oh come on, you know I’m right, who the fuck is she to tell me to get out?” She retorted.

Patsy felt her shoulders weaving where she stood. 

“You crossed a line Em. You need to go. Go away now before I say something I’ll regret.”

In the end Emma did do as she was asked without arguing, perhaps reading the stubborn set to Patsys shoulders as an induction, but she didn’t go quietly. 

Not bothering to say another word she still somehow managed to slam into just about every wall she could as she made her way through the house, the racket so loud that Patsys teeth clenched hard together. Painfully aware of the obvious rise.

Thankfully Delia didn’t take the bait or come back downstairs. The upstairs landing was silent, deceptively still.

Patsy left Emma outside, locking the door firmly before she could make an excuse or an argument out of tonight. 

The landing still didn’t change and Patsy hesitated where she stood; torn between the urge to race and find Delia to apologise or the more appealing idea of giving her time to calm down.

After a few minutes stillness she sighed and chose the latter, fully aware she’d regret it tomorrow. Walking gingerly to the kitchen she set about cleaning up the spilled tea stain and mugs. Carefully and as quietly as she could she put the chairs back into their positions and switched off the lights. Her hands were shaking.

Delia had already switched off the upstairs landing light in a last ditch spiteful move so the path was almost impossible to make out clearly. The stairs were thusly rendered much harder to climb than usual. Her feet were clunky, feet banging into the sharp needles of the few exposed carpet grippers.

When she eventually reached the landing Delia was waiting for her, apparently having spent the last five minutes silently listening to Patsys clumsy steps in the dark. 

She look disconcertingly attractive, the dressing gown discarded leaving Patsy to peer at the shorts and vest combo; taken aback. They were new and this close up without having to worry about anything else it looked like she’d put on makeup. The overall effect was more than a little hot. Delia seemed to sense Patsys attention because she raised an eyebrow, leaning against her bedroom doorframe, her arms crossed loosely across her chest.

Patsy felt herself weaving again, her torso not entirely under her control as she squinted through the dark at Delias silhouette.

“Deels... Are we alright?” She asked lamely to the figure.

For a long moment Delia said nothing at all, biting her lip she looked down at herself, her toes biting into the floor and then she shook her head. 

“No. Not really.” She answered shortly.

Very angry then.

Patsy felt her stomach twist, opened her mouth and then felt vomit clawing its way up her throat and clapped her hands over her mouth.

“I- Shit I think I’m going to puke.” She groaned, sinking to her knees and bringing herself within eye line of Delias knees.

She’d even painted her toe nails for some reason Patsy noticed before looking up, cold sweat breaking out down her back.

Delia was chewing her tongue, eyes flashing an angry dark blue as she surveyed Patsy disdainfully.

“Sorry,’ Patsy mumbled to the carpet, trying to breathe through her nose while the room span in tight circles before her eyes. ‘I didn’t want to upset you.”

This at last did cause a reaction. Delia seemed to swell like a frog, her chest puffing out. “Well that’s an understatement.” She snapped loudly and, with carefully deliberate force, she slammed the door behind her.

Leaving Patsy quite literally to stumble in the dark.


	7. Fracture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fracture  
> Noun
> 
> The cracking or breaking of a hard object or material.

The next morning Patsy awoke sprawled awkwardly on her bedroom floor with one of the worst hangovers she’d endured in a very long time and a mouth that tasted as though a party had gone on in there and all the participants had been sick.   
  
At some point in the night she’d managed to return to the sanctuary of her room but the bed had been a bit too much of an ask. She’d padded the general floor area with half a duvet and a pair of balled up socks though so while her back was screaming at her she hadn’t woken up completely cold.  
  
Remembering what had happened in the kitchen last night though had rather killed off any residual warmth that had lingered. She’d felt sick again.  
  
Very sick in fact and very, very guilty.  
  
Stupid. Reckless. Moron.  
  
Patsy had expected to find Delia striding around the house in a well-earned bad mood the next morning, possibly a few days of silence given the spectacular fuckery of the night before however her speculations were quickly and unpleasantly proven wrong almost as soon as she woke up.  
  
What she did find, when she eventually made her bleary eyed way down to the kitchen in pitying search of coffee and paracetamol, was a total lack of Delia at all in fact. The house was empty.   
  
Delia, as it quickly became apparent, had called into work first thing and booked on an impromptu long day shift. Pig had been dropped off at a bemused Violet and Fred’s before she went and all of this had been communicated through a ten word note tacked to the fridge on the back of a Tesco receipt.   
  
There wasn’t anything else written down anywhere and Delia hadn’t replied to any of Patsy’s six voicemails or fifteen text messages.  
  
Still exceptionally angry then.  
  
In a bid to make some kind of amends Patsy had used the quiet time to blitz the house. The act of cleaning always being a go to in times of stress. She felt calmer as she worked, the act of scrubbing away dirt feeling like some sort of penance.   
  
By lunch time the living room had never looked as clean; what with Patsy actually flipping the sofa to polish the feet and removing all the books from the bookcase to dust underneath. The air was so thick with the scent of jif even Patsy, who usually enjoyed the smell, felt a bit lightheaded with it.   
  
Nerves kept her moving. In the short bursts of inactivity anxiety crept in, a sense of nausea at what she’d done. She shouldn’t have let Emma in, that much was obvious but to not speak up...  
  
Coward. Fucking coward.  
  
Her phone buzzed off and on all morning. Trixie had seen Delia on the ward and wanted to know what had happened. Apparently she’d been caught crying the stock room by Barbara but wouldn’t say what was wrong. Patsy hadn’t replied, just scrubbed harder at a particularly stubborn stain on the carpet.  
  
Emma had called twice. The first voicemail had been from last night and consisted mainly of drunken shouting; angry retorts about Maggie and “so much for friendship”. Patsy was going to die alone apparently.  
  
The second one was a bit better. Emma had sounded sober and the time stamp said 10.03 so she’d probably have been suffering just as much Patsy which, while not exactly helping Patsy’s situation, did make Patsy feel a bit better. The second voicemail had included a rather stilted apology and Emma asking to make amends too.  
  
Patsy had deleted both messages and blocked the number without much guilt. The door for that little adventure shut forever.  
  
Pig was returned some time around three in the afternoon with a suspicious amount of energy that suggested Fred had been sharing his emergency stash of dib dabs again, despite both Patsy and Delia asking him not to. Luckily the high only lasted two hours by which time the after effects of the hangover were finally starting to wear off.  
  
The cleaning spree had been cut short by then, Patsy’s movement curtailed by Pig. The girl once calmer had been unusually clingy while they both moved together around the house, not allowing Patsy far out of sight as though she too could sense an impending storm.  
  
Patsy said very little, cutting up vegetables and whisking up a roux for a moussaka, all the while trying to formulate the conversation she’d need to have when Delia got home. She’d apologise first, that seemed an obvious and necessary start.  
  
Delia would shout a bit and then they could talk.   
  
They had to.   
  
Last night, if nothing else, was a wake-up call. The curtain pulled further back than they’d usually dare revealing the cracks beyond the surface.  
  
They had to change and if Delia could only see that then maybe they could do it. They could be a real couple. They just had to take a step into the unknown.  
  
Pig went to bed around half seven after Patsy’s gentle encouragement to watch a film on her own while the grown-ups talked. She’d complained a bit but had agreed with less reluctance than usual.  
  
Delia would be home just after eight and Patsy desperately needed time to prepare.  
  
She’d done her best. She hadn’t bothered with another dress; thinking it rather tactless to attempt a similar look to last night but she’d tried to do her hair and she’d hidden the dark circles under her eyes.  
  
With nothing left to do, Patsy had set about waiting for Delia’s return expectantly, pacing around the downstairs.  
  
At half eight though and with Delia still not home Patsy was getting worried.  
  
The dinner was starting to go over. The street was nearly full of cars as everyone returned home and the soft hum of activity in the road kept her nerves jumping. Patsy tried to think of Delia’s usual route. The traffic couldn’t be that bad surely?  
  
By nine Patsy was certain that something had gone wrong.  
  
It was far too late for just simple traffic. Patsy had tried to call Delia’s phone with no success, the usual fear of car accidents and heart attacks leaving her on edge as she paced around the landing, watching the living room window for the tell-tale flash of car headlights.  
  
By Ten Patsy was seriously considering calling the police. Something was definitely wrong. Pig had fallen to sleep about half an hour ago and Patsy had snuck into her room to switch off the DVD player and watch the girl breathing just to keep herself from having a meltdown.  
  
Delia finally arrived at just a little past half eleven.  
  
The scrabble of the lock gave her entrance away but Patsy doubted she’d have missed it. She’d been sitting on the bottom stair for the last hour; car keys clenched in her fist as she’d warred between the urge to go and find the stray Welshwoman and the desire not to leave Pig on her own. She’d already called the A&E department, reassuring herself that no one matching Delia’s description had been through the doors that evening.  
  
When Delia turned on the hall light she jumped backwards, surprised to find Patsy waiting for her. Her hair was a mess, the usual work bun apparently having long escaped the confines of its hair tie and her jacket clinked with coins.  
  
Patsy’s eyes narrowed in the sudden onslaught of relief and anger. Delia clearly wasn’t hurt and unless her car had hit a time warp she was more than a little late.  
  
“Where have you been?’ Patsy asked when they’d both taken stock, forcing herself to sound polite when a huge part of her wanted to shout.  
  
Delia’s shock had worn off quickly, her confused expression fading into a jarring neutral emptiness. She considered Patsy’s question for a moment and then shrugged. “Out.” She answered shortly, kicking off her shoes and walking determinably towards the kitchen without a second glance.  
  
Patsy stalked after her, incensed. “I’ve been calling you for the last four hours. I thought you’d had an accident.”  
  
Delia didn’t seem to be listening, her stocking clad feet padded silently on the floor tiles as she reached for a glass and poured herself a long measure of water from the tap.   
  
“I cooked dinner.’ Patsy continued, affronted at the complete lack of acknowledgement. Gesturing to the now ruined meal still on their plates. ‘You couldn’t have replied to tell me you were going to be late.”  
  
Delia raised an eyebrow at that, taking in the food with limited interest as she sipped at her drink. Her general demeanour seemed to suggest any number of unspoken replies.  
  
“Delia I was really fucking worried.” Patsy snarled, her anger building by the second.   
  
She was being punished for yesterday, that much was obvious but this; this was cruel. Delia knew what had happened to Maggie. She knew how large that fear of loss was. She was being deliberately spiteful.  
  
Unconcerned Delia finished her drink slowly and refilled her glass for a second before turning to lean against the counter, her free hand gripping the side tightly.   
  
“Look,’ Patsy made a concerted effort to start the conversation again, letting her shoulders relax as she took in a deep breath. ‘About last night... We need to talk about what happened. I let it go too far and you’re angry, I can see that. I’m sorry.”  
  
Once again, Delia seemed to be considering this, her eyes tracing Patsy form from head to foot and then back again.   
  
Patsy waited, heart hammering, hands outstretched at her sides as though standing for a judges sentence.  
  
The clock in the hall ticked away the time. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock. The steady clicks seemed to be burning into Patsy’s brain, scorching away as she waited.  
  
Delia sighed. With a fast move she downed the rest of her water, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gently put the glass into the washing up bowl.  
  
“I’m going to bed.” She told the patch of air about a foot above Patsy’s head.  
  
“Delia, please?” Patsy’s chest seemed to be constricting. She couldn’t breathe. The emptiness of Delia’s voice. It was frightening.  
  
Delia just shook her head wearily. No. “I’m tired Patsy. I’m really, really tired.”  
  
Patsy didn’t move as she allowed Delia to walk past her and up the stairs.  
  
It had to get better. This would pass she knew that but in the meantime she still felt sick.  
  
Delia couldn’t keep this cold shoulder up for that long surely?  
  
But it didn’t get better.   
  
One week later and Patsy was at breaking point. Delia’s continued indifference and even worse than that, her apparent lack of interest in its effect, was making Patsy frantic. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat.  
  
Frustratingly it wasn’t even as though Delia was being deliberately cold; she just wasn’t present. She’d refused to eat with Patsy the next two nights, citing that she’d already eaten at work, but when Pig had noticed and asked why she was staying out late she’d relented. The meals were tight lipped affairs. Delia wouldn’t look at Patsy. She wouldn’t answer Patsy’s polite questions.  
  
It was as if Patsy had simply ceased to exist.  
  
It had almost been a relief to go back to work on Wednesday although Patsy’s mounting exhaustion and worry made her pretty useless to the team. By the next Saturday Patsy was thoroughly morose and as close to depressed as she’d ever been. That morning having finally pushed her over the edge.  
  
Delia had been up when Patsy had come downstairs in her uniform which was unusual for a Saturday and there’d been a tense attempt at small talk between them. The unsaid anger on both sides making everything uncomfortably formal.  
  
Not that Delia said much.   
  
Patsy had tentatively asked if Delia was planning on taking Pig to Max’s. It was Saturday after all and if they’d been talking then tonight would have been their evening alone.   
  
Delia had said that she wasn’t and had, oddly, cancelled her usual afternoon shift. Patsy had been surprised at that given Delia’s apparent enthusiasm for extra shifts over the last week but hadn’t asked further. Already too aware that Delia probably wouldn’t have answered anyway.   
  
Patsy had sighed. Not bothering to finish the banana she’d only been picking at anyway and had made some lame comment along the lines that she’d be late.  
  
Which was a lie. She was an hour early in fact.  
  
It had therefore surprised Patsy a little when Delia actually asked her a question, addressing her directly rather than her new normal of asking Pig in Patsy’s vicinity. She’d asked when Patsy would be home. Patsy had been confused at the obvious answer that they both already knew and had told her. Eight like always.  
  
Delia had been eating cereal at the table when Patsy had answered, her eyes glued to her spoon but she’d seemed more off than what was rapidly becoming her norm. She’d actually looked at Patsy then, her mouth twitching as though she wanted to say something, almost unbending in a half stand before she’d looked away again.  
  
She’d told Patsy to have a good day.  
  
Which so far she was definitely not having.  
  
Trixie had given up asking Patsy what was wrong over the last week but as shift runner for the day she’d taken one look at Patsy’s pale and miserable face and set her to antenatal appointments in the outpatient clinic.  
  
It was something of a kindness. Less shouting and need for quick thinking but tedious in its own way. Measuring countless baby bumps, taking vitals and doling out advice to mothers in various stages of pregnancy left a person with far too much time to think.  
  
It was Delia’s question that was nagging at Patsy. The whole week leaving her suspicious and tense.   
  
Why would Delia even ask her that? Did it mean that she meant for them to talk finally? Or was it something else.  
  
Patsy had no idea but it didn’t stop her worrying. Her brain spitting out random nightmares.  
  
By twelve any residual energy that she’d been holding on to was thoroughly lost after finishing up a frankly awful examination of a young first time mother who apparently hadn’t washed since conception. Patsy had been forced to explain to the rather incredulous woman that it was not possible to drown the baby from water entering the vagina and therefore bathing was not only safe but necessary. Once the woman had gone clutching a prescription for ointment to help heal the rather nasty bacterial infection she’d developed as a result, Patsy had decided that she couldn’t take any more.  
  
Trixie seemed to have been expecting her when Patsy cornered her friend near the sluice and she’d accepted Patsy’s weak explanation of flu with only a  
minor doubtful wave.  
  
Patsy told herself she was only half lying; she did feel sick. The exhaustion and the anxiety was making her useless. Delia would be home right now and this had to stop. Fred and Vi could have Pig tonight and they could talk this out.   
  
They would talk this out.  
  
Patsy would tie Delia to the damn bed if she wouldn’t listen.   
  
The traffic going home wasn’t all that bad, she made it in a good twenty minutes, the windows down to blow cold air onto her face as she tried to tack through what she was going to say.  
  
She wasn’t going to ask pointless questions this time. They would have this conversation. The whole thing; not just the events from the other night but all of it. Delia could be as frustratingly stubborn as her mother when she wanted to be but she had to hate the way things were as much as Patsy did.   
  
Surely she’d want this to over. She’d seemed just as miserable as Patsy was.  
  
The street was fairly empty at this time of day and there wasn’t the usual scrabble for available car spaces. Patsy parked up behind Delia’s Fiesta, letting her head press briefly into the steering wheel as she tried to centre herself.  
  
She could do this. Just pull the plaster off; small amount of pain for things to feel better.  
  
Then Patsy looked at the car in front of her and realised what she’d seen but not seen when she’d pulled up. Something about Delia’s car was wrong.  
  
She frowned at the familiar faded red paint. The back window wiper with old duct tape at the base tacking it onto the cars body after a nasty bird incident a few years ago.   
  
Everything looked normal.  
  
Then Patsy noticed what she hadn’t before. It wasn’t Delia’s car that made had her heart beat fast she realised slowly. It was what was in it.   
  
A bag poking up from the boot. A familiar bag. Pig’s.  
  
It wasn’t the usual school bag affair either but a suitcase. Green and white with yellow flowers. A holiday bag they’d purchased last year before they went to Spain for a week.   
  
Delia’s face from that morning occurred to her again. The confusing almost moment of speech. Asking what time was she going to be home?  
  
Such an unusual question Patsy had thought. Delia had cancelled her shift...  
  
No!   
  
Patsy tried to understand the bizarre fears that seized her, taken aback at the level of terror, completely baffled for a half a second by all of it and then tore out of her car so fast that she almost collided with a concerned looking Fred.  
  
“Patsy, what-“ Fred began but Patsy was already zooming towards her house.   
  
“Not now Fred!” She bellowed over her shoulder, unable to stop and see if he’d heard.  
  
The front door mercifully wasn’t locked and she almost fell into the house, the handle wobbling in her hand, perilously close to being ripped clean away.   
  
Panting Patsy stalked inside, her head twisting from one direction to another. The living room looked normal. Sofa, television. Flowers on the coffee table.  
  
Except it wasn’t. Patsy gasped, trying to catch her breath as she puzzled at what was different.  
  
Pigs coat wasn’t where it should be on the end of the bannister. The socks that usually lived on the radiators were gone too. Everything was gone she realised, blood draining from her face. Their stuff wasn’t here. The carpet looked freshly hoovered, the windowsills had been dusted... It looked empty. There were even books missing from the bookshelf Patsy was sure of it.  
  
“Delia!! Delia!” Patsy bellowed frantically, jogging to search the kitchen, the dining room before circling back and storming up the stairs. Heart hammering so hard inside her chest she thought it would break her ribs.  
  
The bathroom had that same half empty look. The towels were different. Pigs pink striped one wasn’t there. The toothbrush cup held only one toothbrush. Someone, Delia, had cleaned the sink. The mirror.  
  
“Delia! Fuck, Delia!” Patsy couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.   
  
Fuck, fuck, fuck. This couldn’t be happening.  
  
“Pats?” Delia’s quite normal voice cut through Patsy’s sudden fear like a knife. She sagged on the spot like a marionette doll whose strings have been severed, grasping her face to push back the instant tears while she forced herself to breathe again.  
  
“Pats, are you alright?” Delia was closer now and for the first time in days she actually sounded concerned.   
  
A warm hand landed on Patsy’s shoulder and she almost sagged again at the unexpected weight.   
  
Letting go of her face Patsy staggered forward and wrapped her arms around a surprised Delia’s shoulders almost throwing both of them off balance.  
  
Patsy didn’t care.  
  
Delia felt wonderfully real, a solid anchor and she could feel her heartbeat slow down as she buried her face in Delia’s hair. Not caring how stiffly the woman stood or the fact that she didn’t hug back.   
  
Delia was real. She wasn’t going anywhere.  
  
Patsy was being stupid. Paranoid because of an argument. Honestly it was pathetic.  
  
For all that they’d been quiet Delia wouldn’t do that to her.   
  
After a silent few minutes Delia shuffled back and Patsy was forced to reluctantly let her go, smiling a little shyly as she ducked her head.  
  
“Sorry,’ Patsy muttered huskily, ‘I just-“ Her words trailed off as she took in the scene more closely.  
  
Delia had been in her bedroom when Patsy had called her and the door was hanging open. From within Patsy could see the wardrobe doors and a pile of boxes.  
  
New boxes. The brown sort for heavy packing.  
  
Without waiting for an invitation Patsy silently pushed Delia aside, frowning and walked into the bedroom.  
  
The room had always seemed too big to Patsy. The wardrobe an ungainly figure in one corner. The bed slightly out of proportion.  
  
How odd it was now to feel that it was too small. So small that every detail seemed to be jumping up and down. Unmissable and devastating.  
  
Laying open, like some awful piece of evidence, half full on the bed was a suitcase. Delia’s suitcase. There were piles of clothes across the bed around it and the drawers of her cabinet were half hanging out of their frames. One rogue drawer was actually stood on its side, apparently having been pulled out completely and its contents shaken over the bed. The open mouth of its original resting place looked like a skulls smiling mouth. Almost smirking at her...  
  
The room was very quiet, eerily quiet really as Patsy spun around slowly, staring at the space. Trying to make sense of the details which didn’t make any sense at all.   
  
“You’re... packing a bag?” Patsy surmised hesitantly, doubting the question even as she asked it. Her brain staunchly refusing to understand.  
  
Delia was still stood where Patsy had left her, half hidden in the hallway, her arms straight out in front of herself as though she needed the protection while her right hand slowly rubbed her left wrist up and down, too gently to really warm up the skin. “You’re home early. I thought you said you’d be back at eight?” Her tone was resigned, as though preparing herself for something unpleasant.  
  
Patsy blinked, confused as she still tried to puzzle out what was happening. “I felt sick.’ She explained absently, her lips oddly numb, pins and needles blurring around the edges of her face while a heavy thumping pulse started behind her right eye. ‘I came home... I wanted to talk to you.”  
  
Delia closed her eyes at that, suddenly appearing utterly exhausted before seeming to realise what she was doing and rising to stand back up, her spine poker straight. “I was going to leave you a note.” She jerked a hand stiffly towards the bed as though it was some sort of explanation.  
  
Patsy followed the direction desperately, hoping that this could help make more sense of everything. Unfortunately all that her vision found was a stubbed A6 envelope almost hidden where it was, tucked under a puddle of mis matched socks beside the suitcase.  
  
She tried to swallow, realising that Delia needed some sort of response but was utterly lost as to what she was supposed to say.  
  
Everything was too calm. Too normal for the possibilities running through her frantic imagination.  
  
“You are...’ Patsy’s eyes screwed up almost painfully with the effort of fitting puzzle pieces made entirely of blank images together. ‘Going away?” She ventured vaguely. The words still didn’t seem right, nothing did, everything was wrong. Patsy couldn’t see past the next second, couldn’t think of anything at all. She stared at Delia silently begging her for help.  
  
Delia swallowed hard, the soft flesh of her throat flexing as the muscles pulled and relaxed. “I think that’s the best thing. Yes, I-‘ she shook her head, seeming almost as confused as Patsy felt, squinting down at her feet and wriggling her toes through the frayed seam of her socks. ‘We’re going to go home for a bit.”  
  
Patsy nodded mechanically and then stopped having no idea at all why she agreeing or what she was actually agreeing too. “Home? You’re going to Pembrokeshire?” She clarified, her words coming out like it was having to swim through honey to reach the air. Too thick and slow.  
  
This was Delia’s home.  
  
Delia took a deep breath, her once rubbing hand now just gripping onto her wrist very tightly. The skin was white where her fingers clutched. Four growing patches of bloodless pools. “I think that’s best.” She repeated in a confusingly formal tone.  
  
Patsy’s head tilted from side to side, as though trying to make out a shape in the distance, blinded by a low hanging sun. Turning smartly on her heel she frowned down at the scene again, turning the puzzle pieces around and around in her mind. Waiting for it all to click into place.  
  
A holiday her thoughts doubtfully suggested.  
  
A holiday?   
  
A holiday. She let out a relieved sigh.  
  
Well, it was unexpected you could say that. Then again... Patsy wavered. Eileen had sent that damn postcard. Some sort of trip was inevitable and the plus side of going there rather than enduring a visit to here was that they could make up an excuse to come back if it got too much. She sighed again, more luxuriously now, giving in gracefully.  
  
“Okay,’ she said resignedly, relief at the solution finally making sense left her voice shaky and perilously close to tears, ‘Okay. That’s alright I suppose. If it’s what you want.”  
  
Delia’s response was as surprising as it was instant.   
  
At Patsy’s words her face drained of what little colour it had left and she jerked back as though Patsy had slapped her. “Oh it is, is it?” She asked, her held wrist finally releasing, allowing spare fingers to bunch into a puzzling fist.  
  
Patsy tracked the movement, bemused. “Well I mean it’s maybe a little bit sudden.’ She caveated cautiously, wondering how much she could really complain given Delia’s mood over the last week. ‘But I’ve got some annual leave in the bank and I need to take it before the summer holiday rush starts. I’ll call Phyllis on the way; tell her it was a last minute thing... She won’t... mind.’ Patsy’s words were getting further and further apart as she said them.   
  
Delia’s face had changed, the unexpected anger fizzing out as quickly as it had arrived to leave an altogether and much less welcome expression. Pity. It looked exactly like pity. As though Patsy was missing something.   
  
Stress made her voice higher, her breath suddenly shifting too quickly. ‘Just give me half an hour and I’ll... I’ll get my stuff ready.’ She rubbed her temples as she tried to focus through the unprecedented brain fog and stretched herself to merge into organising mode. ‘Have you done Pigs bag yet?’ Of course she had, Patsy had already seen it. ‘I didn’t put that last wash on yesterday and I think she’s running low on pyjamas.”  
  
It was Delia’s turn to pause now, the unwelcome pity still frightening and real as she tentatively took a step towards the bed and began to pick up socks in unmatched pairs and place them deftly into the inside compartment of her suitcase. “You can’t come with us Pats.” Her eyes stuck disconcertingly on her work, her tone distant again.  
  
“You know I think I saw a spare pair in the laundry basket,’ Patsy’s mouth was working on autopilot. Desperate to fill the silence. ‘I don’t think she wore them more than once. I can wash them when we get to your mams.”  
  
“Patsy,’ Delia placed the last sock into the case and rubbed her temples, her voice patient. ‘You’re not listening. When I said we’re going home I meant myself and Pig. You should stay here.”   
  
Patsy watched a blue polka dot sock and a pink muppets socks disappear into the ether of Delia’s suitcase, her mouth open. Frozen as she repeated the words over and over again in her head. She couldn’t make them seem real.  
  
The silence was too big. The room seemed to be shrinking around them. The air thinning until all Patsy could see was Delia. Delia still packing the fucking bag as though they’d said everything they had to say to one another, her concentration apparently focused entirely on a stack of knickers.  
  
“Where’s Pig?” Patsy asked, shocked to find that her voice, which had been shaking before was now perfectly flat. Expressionless. As though the slow emotions she could feel fizzing up inside her were all too great to fit through the minuscule portal of her mouth. The pulse behind her eye was beating so fast it made her blink rapidly to compensate. Her eyeballs burning in retaliation.  
  
Still Delia didn’t look up, the slim section of underwear now packed she reached seemingly blindly for the jeans that had been splayed out on the end of her bed. She didn’t get far though, prevented from moving because Patsy was suddenly gripping her hand, moving forwards with the slow predictability of landslides. Teeth bared.  
  
Reluctantly their eyes met across the divide, Patsy’s head cocked quizzically. “Where’s Enfys Delia?” She asked again, more deliberately as the full extent of Delia’s actions began to spread out between them.   
  
Delia’s chest rose and fell as she sucked in anxious breaths, her eyes flickering from Patsy’s empty face to her gripping hand. When Patsy neither increased nor decreased the pressure Delia pulled her hand away jerkily.   
  
“I’ve said what I’m going to say. Leave me alone Pats.”  
  
Patsy’s fingers were left to flex into empty air as Delia’s other hand shoved her hard in the chest. The blow barely registered, Patsy refused to give ground. Too scared to move.  
  
“I didn’t hear you say anything actually. When were you going to tell me you were leaving?” Patsy demanded, the first faint traces of anger draining into the room.  
  
Delia tskd and swiped a hand to brush her fringe away irritably. “Today,’ she answered, wavering only slightly, her chin setting into a stubborn line, ‘you were supposed to be working until eight. I already said that I left you a note explaining where we’d gone.” Once again she waved at the envelope in a gesture of all-encompassing answer.  
  
Frustrated beyond measure Patsy’s fingers gripped her scalp, her knees bending as though they couldn’t quite support her any longer. “A letter?’ She couldn’t keep the derision out of her voice. ‘You were going to disappear with our daughter to another country and you actually thought that a letter was going to be enough? Where is Pig Delia!”  
  
Delia had stepped back at the stormy expression on Patsy’s face but she rallied quickly, her own anger breaking through the carefully neutral facade at last.  
  
“She’s not our daughter. She’s my daughter and we can go wherever the hell we want. We’re just the roommates after all.’ The venom in that single statement was unprecedented, so much so that Patsy had to clutch at her chest, staggering under the pain of it. ‘So I’ve done what a roommate does, our rooms are paid for and I’ve put the next month and a half in that letter. We’re even Stevens now Pats.”  
  
Patsy goggled. She’d never properly goggled at someone in her entire life but she couldn’t make sense of any of this. Carefully she pinched her own arm as hard as she could. It hurt.   
  
Not a nightmare then.   
  
But still... This couldn’t possibly be real.  
  
“You left me money and a dear John letter?’ Patsy shook her head, trying to make her ears hear the words. ‘Who are you? Pretty woman? Why not just leave it on my bedside table and have done with it.”  
  
“Oh,’ Delia swept her fringe out of her eyes again, hands on hips as she stiffened at the insinuation. ‘So now I’m a whore and a roommate am I? Nice Pats, very nice.”  
  
“Don’t you dare turn this around on me like I’m the bad guy!’ Patsy exploded, all the frustrations of the week wrapped in silence bursting out in one angry drawl; ‘what the fuck else was I supposed to call you?”  
  
“Anything!’ Delia picked up the jeans, balled them up and threw them hard at Patsy’s head. ‘The entire English language is open to you. You could have told her anything!”  
  
Half muffled by jeans Patsy roughly scraped denim away from her mouth. “And why is it such a big fucking deal anyway? It’s just a word Delia, it doesn’t mean anything. You call me your roommate to your mam and Max and I don’t go around acting like I’ve got a broom stuck up my arse!”  
  
“You’re a fucking joke.’ Delia spat, lunging forward so violently that their faces almost collided. ‘You’re just a coward!”  
  
“I’m a coward!’ Patsy snarled, ‘I’m not the one walking out because I’m too chicken to talk about my feelings.”  
  
“Feelings! Feelings!’ Delia’s arms smacked hard against her side and Patsy almost expected a slap. Pacing in a tight circle Delia’s next statement came through in an irate barrage of thick Welsh, which rather cut off any further conversation.  
  
Patsy was in no mood for it. Stepping forward she halted Delia, grabbing her shoulders. “Stop shouting at me in Welsh! You know damn well I can’t fucking understand you when you do this. If you’re going to call me names you can do it in English.”  
  
“Don’t you tell me what to do Patience Mount! You should have bloody well learned it, you’ve had long enough.”  
  
Patsy tried to calm down, tried to remember that Delia had some right to be angry with her.  
  
But not this. She couldn’t just leave like this.  
  
“So what now? You just leave and that’s it? We’re over. You don’t think we should have even tried to fix this?” In desperation Patsy shook Delia, trying to make her understand.  
  
Delia’s head rattled slightly before she lunged a well-aimed kick at Patsy’s shins. She wasn’t wearing hard soles but the impact still made Patsy wince and release her grip. “Let go of me.”  
  
Patsy staggered back, wincing at the pain in her leg.   
  
Delia had gone back to her work, started packing again, faster than before. Handfuls of clothes were being crammed pell mell into a case that looked close to exploding now. One errant shoe poked resolutely out of the top corner pile and fell to the floor with a dull thunk, unheeded by anyone.  
  
Patsy couldn’t stand it. This couldn’t be happening.  
  
Letting go of subtlety altogether Patsy shoved her way roughly between the bed and sat resolutely on the suitcase with her arms folded. Delia could wrestle her out of the way if she fancied a game of silly buggers.  
  
As it was Delia did try a rather pointless shove but Patsy had wedged her shoe clad feet firmly under the bed so nothing really happened.  
  
“Get out of the way.” Delia ordered, flustered but still fuming.  
  
Patsy shook her head. “No. I’m not letting you do this. Delia we have to talk about this. This is a massive overreaction.”   
  
“An Overreaction? I’m overreacting?’ She repeated, still throwing clothes onto the bed, hangers bouncing around with loud clangs. “How about you waste seven years of your life and then tell me I’m overreacting.”  
  
Patsy stiffened, hurt making her rise from the bed like angry steam. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“I would have thought the meaning was clear enough; tell you what though go away and have a little think about it. If that doesn’t work go and ask Emma what it means. She seems to know everything.”  
  
“Delia,’ Patsy gripped Delia’s shoulders again, desperately needing her to stay still, the room seeming to spin around them, ‘nothing happened that night. Emma’s just a friend, barely even a friend. I told you-“  
  
“I don’t care! I don’t care what she is!” Whatever calm Delia had been forcing since the incident in the kitchen was falling away. She looked like she might burst into tears at any second.  
  
Patsy should have known this was coming.  
  
“Delia.’ Patsy tried to wrap her arms around Delia again, trying to keep her close in the blind belief that if she could make her listen for just a few minutes the this wouldn’t have to happen. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were this upset. We need to talk about this.” About everything really. As deadlines went this one seemed finally upon them.  
  
Or maybe not.  
  
“You’ve had seven years to talk Pats. No point starting now when it’s over.” Pulling away Delia strode back to her work.  
  
Patsy couldn’t seem to make herself breathe, couldn’t seem to move.   
  
“It isn’t over and I’m talking now.” She pleaded at Delia’s back.  
  
Delia was in front of her suitcase again. Shoving fistfuls of whatever she could reach and pushing the sides up, struggling with an impossibly full case and an overwhelmed zipper. “But I’m not listening. I’m done Pats, I can’t do this anymore, I’m not this girl, I am not the girl that cries and waits for somebody to come home.”  
  
“I don’t expect you to be that girl.”  
  
“I want kids, did you ever know that? Has that thought ever even crossed your tiny mind?”  
  
“I...’ Patsy wondered if her jaw really had dislocated and was now dangling somewhere around her knees. She blinked stupidly, scrabbling for any sort of purchase in this shifting landscape of a conversation. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that.”  
  
“No, you don’t know,’ Delia answered pertly for her, ‘because you never ask those sorts of things, you never ask me what I want. We’re just friends. Roommates.”  
  
“We’re not just roommates! And I didn’t ask those questions because I didn’t know that I was allowed to ask!”  
  
“Don’t talk rubbish, we’ve been sleeping together since Pig was taking mid-day naps. You couldn’t find a spare moment to maybe check and see if this was going somewhere? It really would have killed you to tell that woman that I was your... Your-’ Delia paused, struggling to work out the right term through her temper, practically vibrating with indignation, ‘very close personal friend? You’re honestly that ashamed of me?”  
  
“I... Well...” Patsy couldn’t form coherent sentences. Her brain having apparently shut down all communication with her mouth.  
  
“I can’t do this anymore Pats. This is like a never ending bad dream. This isn’t supposed to be my life.‘ Losing all composure Delia raised her arms, gesticulating all around her, kicking the bed frame hard when she finally managed to squeeze the zipper closed. ‘I’m nearly 30 years old, I’m sleeping with a woman who only sees me as a roommate and someone to fuck when she gets lonely. I might as well be single with a child like my mam thinks I am. And this isn’t how it’s supposed to be! I was supposed to be married by now! Pig was supposed to have a brother or a sister, I never planned on her being an only child and I tell you something right now Patience Mount,’ hauling the suitcase up in one hand she raised a threatening finger towards Patsy’s stunned face. ‘I am done waiting for you to get your act together! I might be willing to play second fiddle to Maggie but if you think I’m going to just sit and wait around while you go out finding yourself with anyone who catches your eye then you’ve got another thing coming you absolute twmffat.”  
  
Idiot.  
  
Patsy could only watch, horrified, as Delia turned around for the last time, storming towards the stairs.  
  
She only realised that she was moving when the door blurred past her eyes. Her legs, only nominally attached to the part of the brain that was built for higher thought and far more controlled by the hind brain that cared very little about reason but knew all too well that when it’s life was walking away it needed to follow, apparently kicking in.  
  
“Delia wait!’ Patsy could barely make sense of her words now, they shot out so fast they almost jumbled together. ‘You can have that! We can do all of that! I want that too!”  
  
Delia wasn’t listening though, suitcase balanced on one hip she was stomping downwards, face set into a hard grimace.   
  
Patsy could feel the adrenaline burning in her veins. She couldn’t breathe.  
  
She almost knocked them both down the stairs with the speed at which she took them, overtaking Delia on the last step just through sheer panic only to arrive feet on the floor, hands up and body barring the way.  
  
“Wait!’ She bellowed, hoping that sheer volume at this stage could cut through Delia’s anger. ‘Just wait!”  
  
“Get out of the way Pats.” Delia’s chest was rising so quickly she’d probably black out if Patsy kept her here long enough.   
  
“Not until you listen to me.”  
  
Delia glared at her, foot tapping on the stairs before she gave up, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine. Out with it.”  
  
Patsy, who hadn’t actually believed that Delia would listen had the mental experience of taking a run up to kick a door in, only for someone on the other side to open it at the last possible moment. Nonetheless she tried. “I... I love you. You can’t go. I love you.”  
  
Delia surveyed her composedly. “And? I already know that.’ Delia retorted bitterly, ‘I’ve known you loved me for years. Truth is I love you too Pats... and it’s not enough. It’s not enough anymore. Not for me.”  
  
“Then tell me what I can say!’ Patsy demanded, desperate and fully aware that she was losing all grip on the situation.  
  
Delia sighed and for the first time looked like she was about to fall down and bawl. “Why break the habit of a lifetime Pats; say nothing. It’s what you do best.”  
  
Patsy felt beaten, as though Delia was punching her instead of calmly standing in their hallway waiting for Patsy to get out of her way. She couldn’t see any options, any sign of weakness or uncertainty.  
  
Delia was going to leave and there was nothing that Patsy could do to stop her.  
  
The realisation was so cold that her body seemed to freeze on the spot. Achingly slowly, Patsy stepped aside.   
  
“What about Pig?’ Patsy asked, her voice far away, latching onto one new horror at a time, ‘she won’t understand. I need to speak to her.” Was it even possible for a heart to break this badly.  
  
Patsy could sense the wave building up. The crushing threat of it shadowing over her.  
  
The question and the defeat brought Delia short. She stopped walking and turned, finally giving in to tears she reached to run the back of her fingers down Patsy’s arm. “She’s at Fred’s... I don’t want you to see her yet... I’ll speak to her when we get to my mams, we’ll sort something out.’ The gentleness in her voice made everything worse somehow. Patsy almost wished they’d kept shouting at each other. ‘I’m not going to stop her from seeing you Pats. Not ever. You’ve always been a part her life and I wouldn’t say otherwise. It’s just me... I can’t be here and I can’t not have my daughter with me.”  
  
Unable to speak, at a total loss, Patsy merely nodded. It seemed to take a very long time for the front door to slam shut. Even longer for the sound of Delia’s car to start in the road.  
  
Patsy was still nodding into empty space ten minutes later when her knees finally gave up. She collapsed in on herself, barely able to see through the tears.  
  
Fuck, fuck, fuck!


	8. Implosion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implosion.  
> Noun
> 
> An instance of something collapsing violently inwards.

Casual observers of human nature would possibly have been fairly confused if they’d been looking in on what Patsy did next.

The tears were unavoidable, but they ended after an indeterminable time; one hour or two, it was hard to decipher. Still; it subsided. Time seemed a very distant concept given the state of shock and downright disbelief.

She wasn’t sure what was real.

Eventually though even the heartbroken are human and Patsys body made her aware of more boring things like sore ankles and headaches. The realisation of that was enough at least to pull herself up, forearms resting on her bent knees. She sat uncomfortably on her hard hallway floor as she tried to think through the oddly misty veil of panic about what to do next.

Patsy had never been much good with emotions in a hurry although she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she’d probably had a more than average experience with the stuff.

When her mother had died she’d been relatively young and it would have been natural to cry but she’d not felt it appropriate to openly show her distress then. Selfish almost.

Cancer was a horrible end and her mother had passed away with as much dignity as possible but the disease had seemed to wear her out slowly; one day she was lying on the sofa waiting for them to come home from school, all bright smiles and questions and the next day she wasn’t there anymore. She’d simply vanished.

Her father had cried enough for all of them; loud and messy and all consuming. Patsy had deferred to his obvious need for space and had chosen to grieve privately. For months she’d listened to him sobbing downstairs when she was in bed, letting the all encompassing, exhausting weight of loss pin her down, crush her silently where it wouldn’t encroach on others. Even then she’d been aware of the frightening way the numbness of it had seemed to freeze her stiff. The idea that she would cry with her father, that they would grieve together had repulsed her, seemed an almost unnatural wish. He’d so clearly felt that his sadness was greater than anyone’s. It had filled their home, filled Patsys world so completely that there hadn’t been room left for her feelings. Or her sisters.

Oddly Patsy didn’t hate him for that anymore, although there’d been a time when she’d have cheerfully watched him bleed out in front of her for it. She’d blamed him for a very long time; when Maggie died and he still couldn’t find it in him to care. She’d hated him very much. But... Delia had made her talk about it, little by little, like cleaning an infected wound and she’d found herself letting the anger. It hadn’t helped anyway.

He had not been an unkind man; just selfish she’d realised later. Incredibly, damagingly selfish, yes. But perhaps he hadn’t known another way to exist. Perhaps he truly had lost himself without her mother. Perhaps...

Her sister had been almost the same as Patsy at first, withdrawn and quiet. Scared of walking on eggshells. Given that she was younger perhaps her responses had been more because she simply hadn’t fully realised that their mother was gone though. True loss was a challenging concept to understand when you were five and the remaining adult linked to you pretty much forgot that you existed.

Patsy remembered that she had been forced to grow up very quickly after that. The childhood she’d enjoyed before hand had been abruptly withdrawn out of necessity; she had a sister to look after and a father who had disappeared more and more by the day, burrowing away behind the excuse of work and social obligations. Avoiding the reality that his wife was gone.

When her sister jumped in front of a train walking back on her own from school five years later Patsy had at least been allowed to cry; the shock and the pain had been so sharp she’d thought she would peel away from the earth somehow too. She’d blamed herself. Patsy should have been with her, she was supposed to take care of her, but Faith had insisted that she was old enough to walk home alone and after a bitter argument with their nanny it had been agreed that she should.

The suicide had been a darker stain on the families bonds than the death of her mother had been. Patsy often considered that more than anything else the facts had embarrassed her father immensely. He’d hated that his own child would do such a thing; it had reflected on his parenting abilities very poorly indeed and that had harmed his business. 

The threat to something he actually cared about had probably made leaving Patsy a very easy task indeed.

To try and mitigate the social whispering her father had always tried to float the lie that Faith had somehow fallen, that it had been another terrible accident that the family had been dealt. Blameless. Patsy hadn’t bothered to agree or disagree; telling herself that she didn’t care that no one actually asked her anyway. She’d accepted the real truth as it came to her; painful as it was. 

Her sister had forever been bursting with emotions, the potent mixture of them bubbling away constantly under her skin, uncontrolled and dangerous. Faith had rebelled against their fathers distance, had bullied the staff he brought in trying to replace their mothers role. She’d been in trouble at school. Always arguing. Only slightly older; Patsy had surmised that the lack of control on her emotions was what had really killed Faith in the end.

She’d still barely been able to understand it though, the shock of that loss had crept over her like a slow undulating spiral; like a finger pricked down into a smooth pool. The sadness had simply spread out, it’s orbits casting wider and wider marks across her thoughts. Scars that left beliefs.

People would always leave. Trust no one. 

By the time the funeral had happened her father had already made the short fifteen minute appointment required to call Patsy into his office and explain, without much preamble, that he would be moving to New York the following month where he intended to relocate his business. She, Patsy, would be attending a new school in London, a boarding school. 

They hadn’t lived together ever again after that. The stalling relationship had since been relegated to infrequent phone calls and neutrally addressed birthday cards. School holidays had been spent at camps or with friends families. He’d remarried ten years ago, an American woman close to Patsys age who doubtfully asked Patsy to call her “mom” and Patsy had a half brother who she’d met twice. He was called Thomas and was six. The same age as Pig.

It was... A polite association now, their joint thread existed intangibly through faintly held old values on blood and perhaps a decade and a half spent as an almost family once upon a time. Truth was she barely thought of him as anything to do with her life anymore. It had been one of the reasons though, no matter how much it annoyed her, that Max had been allowed a part in Pigs life. While she’d long ago accepted the lack of a parent she would rather Pig not have to make the same adjustments when she was older. It was important to have a family.

Delia and Pig were her family now or, they were...

She didn’t want Pig to ever think that she was truly alone. It was a cold place to live.

Patsy could remember very clearly when she’d realised the fact that she was alone; she’d been sat on the hard wooden pew of the church at her sisters funeral, numbly listening to an aunt she barely knew blow her nose tearfully throughout the service. The delicate blorts has irritated her raw nerves every time they crossed her ears and when the mourners eventually left, pouring out of the too small church like a black trail of smoke behind the pitiful white coffin, she’d decided that she would never be so weak.

If she had a feeling; then it would remain hers. No one else was going to step in and take it away. No one could. She was alone, untethered and these facts wouldn’t change. All humans were alone no matter what people said. She would need to rely on her own abilities from now on; she would need to keep her distance from the possibility of any more loss.

Well wishers at the funeral had tried to comfort her, they’d tried to tell her that her sister hadn’t been in pain. It would have been quick. That she’d be with her mother now; the two reunited and happy.

Patsy had nodded as though she’d agreed but inside the insinuation had left her seething.

Emotions again. People took so much stock in the things. They talked about them so damn often but they rarely, if ever, tried to do anything productive. What good was talking about you’re sadness when mere words couldn’t displace it? Words, words, words. Meaningless, pointless placitude.

And what good was a few words to a dying man anyway? What good was a kind word to a starving family if it didn’t come with aid?

It was why she’d wanted to be a nurse. She’d wanted to make a difference somehow; where words failed actions did not.

She’d managed well on her own at school. She’d made friends but never kept up with them after they’d all left to go elsewhere. A transitory existence without deep ties had seemed the perfect solution. The easiest route to happiness.

And then Maggie had happened and Patsy had been forced to learn new lessons. Difficult as it had been to accept, the truth was that when she had fallen she really had fallen hard. Maggie had been a bright light, a parallel life. She’d demanded that Patsy think differently, she’d pushed her to be better. 

Patsy had thought she could trust Maggie. She could be open and honest and eventually, after she’d let her guard down enough, she had told Maggie that she was scared she’d lose her. 

Maggie had laughed the first time she’d said it, had wrapped her arms around Patsys waist and squeezed hard enough to make Patsy gasp. Solid, real, anchoring Maggie. She’d promised confidently that she wasn’t going anywhere. She’d promised forevers.

And then she’d dropped dead of a heart defect, which rather proved Patsys point. No one stayed. 

Slowly, in the present only in body, Patsy got up off the floor and walked to the kitchen. Her hands went automatically to the cleaning cupboard and pulled out the box of sprays. 

She needed to think. She needed to do something.

An oven should be cleaned every six months her mother had told her once when she was small and sat with her legs swinging on a chair at the kitchen table. Her mother had put a lot of store by being clean. Tidy space equals a tidy mind explained an old English teacher. Cleanliness was next to Godliness nursing school had drilled into her brain.

Untethered once again, lost and uncertain, Patsy cleaned.

The hinges of the oven were undone quickly with a hastily grabbed butter knife. The glass door was released with a tinkle and carried to the sink for scouring.

It took thirty minutes to bring the glass back to a full shine. Even the rubber seals glinted.

The oven took another hour. Patsy scrubbed on her knees, teeth gritted as the bleach stung her wrists. She’d forgotten to use gloves. The robotic sway of her arms, the pull of her shoulders and the ache of her legs was helpful. 

Grounding. 

Pembrokeshire was a four and half hour journey. Six in heavy traffic. Patsy had made the drive back and forth too many times to count. Delia usually stopped on the border because it was the last toilet break until she got further in land to Wales. That was two hours.

Had it been that long yet?

She couldn’t stop to check the time. She didn’t want to see if she was right.

Delia would have to come back then, turn around half way there. She wouldn’t actually have left her. This wasn’t real.

They’d had an argument that was all. They’d had arguments before; never quite so big or dramatic or final but they had argued. They would make up. 

Patsy could fix this. She just had to think. What to do. What to do next. Tomorrow. Now. What should she have done. 

At the back of the oven near the fan was a stubborn lump of grease. A stalactite that had grown from a dent in the oven tray. She scratched at it with her fingers when the wire wool didn’t work. Her nail ripped and her fingers burned from the caustic chemicals but she kept at it, worrying away the lump until it popped free, drenching her palm with bleach.

She barely noticed the fresh scorch along her flesh. Didn’t matter. Scouring her thoughts was the more pressing issue at the moment.

She didn’t know what to do next. Delia was the more habitual peacekeeper, Delia was the one who had always offered an olive branch and clearly that wasn’t going to happen right now. Patsy was the one who had fucked up. Hugely, terrifyingly, destructively destroyed everything.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She could follow them.

Yes.

That idea had her straightening up, almost standing, swiping her hands on her jeans and dousing them in another warm sheen of bleach. She could follow on behind and be there by tonight. 

Or maybe she could catch up before that... But, no. There didn’t seem a great deal of point driving next to Delia. What would she do then? Morse code an apology. Semaphore out the window. No. She highly doubted driving them both off the road would help Delia calm down. She’d have to go tomorrow.

Give Delia some time to calm down.

Reluctantly Patsy pulled out her phone, afraid of what she’d find. The small gadget laid silent in her palm; there were no calls or messages.

She shouldn’t expect there would be. Shouldn’t but still... Fuck. 

She dialled Delia’s number and waited until the voicemail popped up. She left a succinct message. She was sorry, she wanted Delia to come home. She hoped Delia would call back.

The ending dial tone seemed to ring in her ears for longer than it should have done and she couldn’t stop staring at the floor. Her eyes felt full of glue, vision sticking to all the wrong things and sliding over what she needed to really see.

The bleach and grease had pooled all over the tiles. Belatedly Patsy realised that she’d been kneeling in it. Her jeans looked as though they were already turning a yellowish white. They were her favourites too.

Needed to clean up. Get sorted or organised or tidy or get a plan or get through to Delia or, or, she didn’t know what to do.

Getting back up Patsy mechanically filled the washing up bowl with soapy water and pulled out a scrubbing brush from underneath the sink. It’s weight seemed off in her hand, the Earths gravity hitting her all wrong. 

She had a mop of course but she felt calmer closer to the ground. 

And her legs felt weak, like they could collapse at any second.

She was only vaguely aware that she was shaking. Her whole body shook as she knelt on the hard tiles and started to scrub with all her might.

“I might be willing to play second fiddle to Maggie but not anyone else.” That’s what Delia had said.

Is that really what Delia thought Patsy had done? Had Patsy done that? Had she truly allowed Delia to think that she compared the two of them? That she put Maggie first?

Patsys brain imploded. Unanswered torture. Surely not.

No, Delia must have just been trying to hurt her. There was no way that Delia didn’t know how Patsy felt about them. About her. She had to know that Patsy loved her and- come to think of it, she’d even said it hadn’t she.

“I know you love me, I love you too. Not enough.” Not... Enough.

Patsys legs hurt, her chest was too much tightness, she wasn’t enough. And what did that mean? She hadn’t been enough or hadn’t given enough or what? What!? 

Fuck.

The scrubbing brush was a solid wooden thing, ten years old with the bristles bent in half from good use. It snapped clean in half under the strain of her scrubbing and Patsy looked down dazedly to realise that she’d been worrying at the same patch of floor so hard that she’d made a whole section of grout between two tiles come away. It was smeared in the soapy water and the bleach and the grease. She was kneeling in dirt.

And she was freezing. Coldest in the centre of the fire.

She stood up again. Urgently and stiff.

She called Delia. Left another message. She loved her, she loved her so much and she wanted to her to come back. Just come back. 

The room had grown darker and Patsy couldn’t fix on the time properly. She didn’t know how long Delia had been gone. 

She’d text surely?

Even if she was angry she’d have to text Patsy and tell her that they got there safely. She couldn’t hate her that much. She couldn’t have actually gone for forever.

What if something had happened, what if they’d been held up on traffic or there’d been an accident. If Patsy could feel this lost then surely, surely Delia would be upset. She could have lost her focus. The car could be piled up on the side of the motorway somewhere.

Patsy called Delia again, another message. Another request for her to call. To let her know where they were. To let her know Patsy loved her.

She was shaking so hard when the message ended that she couldn’t seem to press the big red circle to disconnect. She didn’t want to. In the end she was forced to put the phone on the counter and hold one hand in the other to do it. Her knuckles were raw and puffy she noted vaguely.

She went to the hall and held her car keys, pressing the plastic fobs hard between her fingers as she sat on the bottom step of the stairs and rocked until she could catch her breath. She couldn’t seem to manage it. Her legs jolted and jiggled out of her control.

She wasn’t crying. She’d moved past crying. She felt numb again. Even her thoughts were hard to grasp at.

Delia. Pig. Delia. Pig. 

Gone.

Like a sleepwalker Patsy managed to make her way upstairs. She didn’t have any direction in mind, it was just the movement she needed. She needed to outrun her own fear but it was still there when she got to the top. Faster than light.

Everything still looked the same.

That had to mean that it still was, didn’t it? Things didn’t change this rapidly. They couldn’t be really gone.

Pigs door was closed, the salt dough sign was still balanced precariously on a hastily laid nail. “Enfys room, keep out’. Patsy pushed open the door using the tips of her fingers. 

The room was small and babyish. They’d been planning on decorating this summer; were going to surprise Pig with a trip to B&Q and the promise that she could pick whatever colour paint she wanted. At the moment the yellow nursery wallpaper was still up, hidden by the child size single bed and a rocking chair in the corner that they’d used for night feeds. There were teddy bears in it now. A small tv on a high shelf in the corner along with a remote so she’d go to bed at a normal time. Her bed was made; pink and purple backgrounds with cartoon flowers. There were still a few Lego bricks strewn along the floor; booby traps waiting for an unsuspecting victim to step on them in the dark.

Patsy swayed on the spot. Staring at the space disbelievingly. All of this... It couldn’t be gone. It couldn’t.

Without consciously thinking it Patsy plucked up Pigs pillow and almost ran out of the room. 

Delias door was still open and Patsy stumbled in like she was drowning. It was all still such a mess; clothes left on the floor because she’d been rushing. She’d been rushing to get away from Patsy. She hated Patsy that much.

Patsy managed to move herself close to the bed before her legs gave away under her. She thought she might be sick, her stomach rolled inside her gut and she squeezed her eyes shut to make it stop. Pigs pillow smelt like mint toothpaste and baby shampoo. Patsy sucked in lungfuls of it. The pillow cradled tightly against her chest.

They’d come home. They would come home and this wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last. They couldn’t just disappear like this.

“It’s not enough.” Delia’s face. Delia’s face when she’d walked out. She’d been so final.

Patsy groaned and burrowed down as best as she could into the duvet. Hiding from the light. Her head was so heavy she couldn’t seem to lift it so had to make do with a pathetic scissor kick lying down to hook the blankets around her hips. The bed smelt too much like Delia. On the floor she couldn’t stop looking at the scattered remnants of Delias sock drawer. 

This wasn’t real.

Patsy didn’t notice falling asleep and only realised that she had been when she opened her eyes. There was some sort of hammer battering against her brain. Drilling. A bomb.

No. The door. Someone was knocking on the door. Trying to beat it down.

Delia!

Patsy nearly knocked herself out on the bedroom wall in her haste of trying to stand up. The tangled vines of the blankets dragged her back, knotting around her.

She stumbled out of them as quickly as she could, breath sharp in her mouth, leaving a trail of blankets to lay limp on the hallway carpet as she scurried to answer the door. Almost crying with relief.

They’d come back. It was going to be alright.

Patsys half confused jolt of excitement lasted only long enough for her to open the door and see who was standing on the front step.

Her heart stuttered and collapsed into a tight thrum of physical pain. As though she needed the support her fingers dug into the wooden door frame.

“Oh... Max.”

Most definitely not Delia, Max was wearing his usual two piece suit with a white shirt and a navy blue tie. His hair was carefully kempt as always, sharp lines graduating into longer styled tresses. His face was, Patsys supposed uncharitably, handsome enough for a man although he looked particularly unattractive to her right now. She tried to work out why that was muzzily and realised that he looked smug, like Pig when she’d got her own way. They even rocked on the balls of their feet the same. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something else.

Patsy straightened up and tried for a weak smile but her facial muscles rebelled against her and all she managed was a sort of tight lipped rictus. “Are you looking for Pig?’ Seemed about the only reason he’d be here. ‘They’re not here, the girls have gone for a... holiday back at Delias mams. They’ll be home soon.” Patsy said this last bit too fervently, needing it to be true.

Max’s eyebrows rose just slightly and he leant back, hands loosely held in trouser pockets. The smug set to his face seemed to deepen into smirk territory. He clicked his tongue as his eyes travelled up and down Patsy.

Patsy looked down at herself too and realised that she looked more than a mess. Her jeans were ruined; streaked with bleach. Her arms had red patches and a few shiny burns along her wrist and palms. 

She tried to hide them behind her back. “Is there something I can do to help?” She prompted, in a hurry for him to leave. She needed to check her phone. Delia would have called her and she’d missed it. Sleeping like an idiot. From the look of Max and the watery sunshine it must be morning. 

Delia might think that she didn’t care.

Her fingers itched to slam the door shut in Max’s smirking face and run to the kitchen. 

As though sensing this swing in Patsys  
mood Max twitched and stepped forward. Raising a desultory hand for attention he fixed Patsy with a cold stare. “I’m not here for them. I think you should let me in Patience. It’s high time you and I had a conversation about one or two things, don’t you think?”

Patsy didn’t even have time to respond before he was pushing her out of the way, their two bodies brushing against each other offensively close as he walked blithely through the hall to the kitchen.

Patsy stared after him, confused by his words and actions before realising that she was still standing at her front door. She shut it firmly behind them both to try and hide the momentary pause and then followed after Delias ex cautiously.

The kitchen really didn’t help her mental state. The oven was in bits, the door still balanced cartoonishly large over the small draining board. The mess left on the floor had dried out mostly and left slippery streaks of grey and brown to set into the ceramic. The broken brush was in two parts and bristles fluttered amongst the debris like dandelion clock seeds.

She hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, a shy stranger in her own home, her throat seemed to be closing up. Her legs shook as she blinked at the wreckage of her life in shock.

Max appeared almost not to notice, whistling tunelessly to himself he had already sat down at the table, plucking delicately at his trouser seam to straighten it. Quite the picture of ease. 

It was unnerving. A bad dream.

Once comfortable his head rose to seek Patsy out. He smirked again when their eyes met and nodded towards the kettle. “Tea thanks. I don’t usually have sugar but,’ he clapped his hands and rubbed them together, ‘as this is a little celebration I’ll have two. Fuck it, let’s make it three. Biscuits too if you’ve got them.”

Patsy on a normal day would have challenged Max on both his tone and his entitlement but right now the prompt felt necessary. She couldn’t fix on what to do, she felt concussed somehow. The kettle was an easy task and she rushed to it; needing the movement, the rush of speed.

Kettle filled and flicked on she realised that her lips were too dry. Her throat was still sticky and she filled a glass with water and sucked the entire thing down, the chill of it making her cough as she turned to watch Max.

He seemed to be enjoying the spectacle at least. Hands folded on the table.

Patsy tried to gather herself, tried to look as pulled together as she could manage in her current clothes and environment. 

“What... What can I do for you Max?” Patsys voice was too rough, she sounded like she’d been crying and she wished she didn’t. She didn’t want Max of all people judging her at the moment.

Max grinned, his teeth very straight set against the darker flesh of his lips. “I had a phone call this morning. A very interesting phone call. Eileen likes to keep in touch every now and again, we always did get on and she’s told me some very troubling things Patience.” He frowned at Patsy, brows drawn together as though he was truly concerned. Except it didn’t match his eyes which were still too entertained. Patsy felt her chest thicken, the muscles seeming to inflate until they were crushing her ribs. 

“Oh.” It could have been a word or it could have been air being forced up her trachea. Patsy wouldn’t have been able to say either way, beside her the kettle rattled on its plate. Nearly boiled over.

Max nodded, mock serious. “Eileens very unhappy with you Patience. Delias told her all about it; what you’ve done.’ He tutted, tick ticking his finger with the sound. ‘I offered to perform this little service on her behalf you see. Lines must be drawn, you know how it is.”

“Did...’ Patsy hated that she had to ask him this. The humiliation burned her worse than the bleach. ‘Did you speak to Delia?”

“You see,’ Max didn’t answer, picking an invisible piece of lint from his trousers, voice airy. ‘This is how it’s going to go. I’ve been asked to relay a message to you moving forward; you are to have no further contact with Delia. Fact is my old friend that nobody wants you in this picture, you’ve had your time, hanging round the place like a bad smell and quite frankly we’re all more than done with you. While I’m here I thought that I might pick up some of Enfy’s things. That way it’ll be easier for her. She won’t have to come here or see you anymore, she can stay with me in the holidays.”

Patsy swayed on the spot. She couldn’t breathe. 

The kettle finished, the resounding click almost violent in the utter silence of the kitchen.

Max clicked his fingers like an arrogant patron in a restaurant. “Three sugars. Shame we don’t have any champagne eh.”

Patsy pulled out two mugs. Made the tea. Added the sugar. Put the mug on the table in front of Max very carefully.

There didn’t seem anything else to do.

Far off, like it was happening to someone else she heard herself ask. “Did Delia say when she was coming back to London?”

Strange that. Her voice almost sounded calm. 

The room seemed to be floating up around her.

None of this was real and yet Max was still here. He was talking.

Patsy could barely take it in. Something about Pig. Patsy wouldn’t see Pig again. 

She frowned at her feet, her socks were bleach stained too. New holes had sprung up overnight where the bleach had destroyed the cotton in places. Ruined.

Strange.

“I have to see Pig Max. I have a right to see Pig.” Had she just said that? Patsy could barely concentrate on words right now but she was almost certain that the words had come out of her mouth.

She wondered if she’d died. If this was what it felt like to be dead.

Max’s cheek bulged on one side as though he was chewing his tongue. “I hardly think so. It would be best for everyone involved if you just crawled back to where you came from. Eileen and I both agree that they’re better off without you.”

Patsys nails dug into her hands. Small sharp pricks of real ness, just enough to bring her back although the world seemed tinged oddly. The colours too bright.

“Tell me Max, at what point did you first realise that you hated me?” The question didn’t matter but it did affect the man. He bristled in his chair.

Patsy couldn’t find it in herself to feel anything now.

“I would think the very first time I met you.” He answered bluntly.

Patsy nodded absently, her nails digging down to bone. “It’s not my fault the way things turned out Max. No one ever said you couldn’t be a part of their lives. Delia wants you to be a part of Pigs life.” It was all true. All of it.

Max didn’t appear to agree. “I don’t see why it isn’t.’ He snapped. ‘You’re the reason everything was ruined.”

“Me?’ Patsy felt herself snap back into reality so quickly her spine actually bent with the force, she couldn’t keep the scorn out of her voice. ‘I think you managed that all on your own just fine Max.”

“Please, she was never right after you got your foot in the door.’ Max scrunched up his face, raised his voice and took on a passable Welsh drawl that was nowhere near Delias. ‘Oh Patsy says, Patsy was thinking, today Patsy told me the funniest thing- Makes my stomach turn just thinking about it.”

“We were friends, best friends. People are allowed to have friends Max.” Patsy could feel her cheeks burning. Angry and embarrassed and perilously close to tears. This was too much. The tsunami she’d been holding back was finally crashing around her.

Gone. They were gone.

“Friends?’ Max sneered the word, ‘how stupid do you think I am?”

Patsy didn’t even need to think about it. “What do you want? A bit by bit analysis or a pie chart?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. You were after my life the moment we met!’ Max had turned red now too, his eyes stormy as he pointed an accusing finger and ground it into the table. ‘You saw what me and Delia had and you wanted it for yourself. You took away my chance of being a father.”

“Father?’ Patsys fist slammed down on the side, ‘father! You’ve got a nerve even thinking the word. As far as I recall you were the one who ducked out before Pig was even born. I’ve met carving knives with more parental capabilities than you.”

“And who’s fault was that? You stole everything, I’ve more than done my share. I’m her actual parent. Delia and I are Pigs real parents and you? You’re nothing but some scheming dyke who turned up and ruined everything.”

Patsy could hear ringing in her ears. The room thinned down to hold just Max’s face. “Okay,’ Patsy breathed out a threat between clenched teeth, ‘okay super dad. You think you’re a parent then answer me this; what is Pigs favourite book?”

“Excuse me? What sort of question is that?” Max looked only slightly taken aback.

Patsy ignored him, crossing her arms so she wouldn’t run and slap his stupid face, she answered her own question. “Winnie the Pooh. If you’d turned up for her last two birthday parties you might have known that, it was on her actual birthday cake this year. You never show up Max. You made some bullshit excuse for why and we had to tell Pig that you weren’t coming. We had to deal with her crying in wacky warehouse and then we had to talk her out her treehouse all because you couldn’t be bothered to see her on one of the rare days you were meant to be there. Some dad that is.”

“I had a meeting. Not everything can be ignored for the sake of a shitty little kids party.” 

Patsy ignored that too, impatient. Wanting him to leave so she could give in to the building desire to scream. ‘What’s her shoe size? Three and half in velcro, four in a zip up. What’s her favourite cereal? Mini weetabix but not the blueberry one because she doesn’t like the bits in her teeth. Whats her favourite cartoon? Mona the vampire. What’s her favourite musical? Sound of music. What’s her favourite colour-“

“Pink!’ Max interrupted, his face was truly red now, a steady flush suffusing along his jaw. ‘Now you’re just insulting me. Everyone knows that all little girls like pink.”

“No!’ Patsys hand slammed down on the side with a hollow victory, making the undrunk teas surface ripple. ‘It’s blue! She likes pastel blue Max; has done ever since she was four. If you ever visited her here or spent more than half a day with her then you’d fucking know that! What’s her favourite animal?”

Max’s mouth opened and shut as he tried to think but then he sat a little straighter in his seat, jaw sticking out. “Penguins.” He answered stonily.

“Wrong.’ Patsy waved her hands in a frantic half jig she couldn’t stop. ‘They’re her second favourite. Number one is giraffes. She likes them because of their extra long princess eyelashes and, as it happens, their tongues are, let me see now, what colour? You guessed it, fucking blue which is, as already established, your child’s favourite colour. Know where she learned that little fact?’ Patsy didn’t wait for a response, didn’t need one. ‘The zoo. The place you were supposed to take her last Christmas and never showed up, never even bothered to call her to explain why either and I ended up taking her instead because I couldn’t bare watching my kid so upset over a piece of shit father like you.’ Patsy couldn’t stop her own hands as they continued waving wildly, ‘you see? These sorts of things, all of them, they’re the sort of thing a parent is supposed to know. You don’t know anything about her and it’s nobodies fault but your own. Don’t you dare try and tell me I took your spot. Take some responsibility for your own fucked up choices.”

It was too much and not enough.

Max was on his feet suddenly, their faces pressing nose to nose. “And what else did you take my place in? Don’t tell me you weren’t fucking Delia when we were together.”

Patsy shoved him back and took only slight satisfaction when he stumbled towards the door. “We were only ever friends. Whatever you might think of me or Delia she would never have done that to you. She’s a good person.” She was a good person.

They were gone. They were really gone. She’d lost them-

Max snorted. “Oh but this makes it all so much worse. You poor bitch, you’re telling me she doesn’t even fuck you. There goes the last bit of respect I had then.”

“Get out of my house.” Patsy turned away, ending the conversation as she lent against the side. She thought she would vomit, the pain behind her eyeballs was indescribable. Not really wanting it she took another sip of water. Disgusted, sick to her bones of this man and his never ending offensiveness.

They were gone. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She’d lost everything.

Max wasn’t going though. He was whooping, as though Patsy had said something hilarious. “I can see that must have killed you. This makes so much sense now. She wasn’t interested. All these years dogging her life and she didn’t even fuck you. Christ and I used to be jealous. She used to love fucking me, used to absolutely love-“

CRASH

For a moment nobody moved. Both of them too shocked to say anything else.

Patsy stood with both arms outstretched while Max was now half bent over. It was lucky that he was agile. The oven door, which so recently had been resting on the draining board, was now half embedded in the patch of wall just behind where Max had been standing. The safety glass panel of the door had shattered from the force of the impact into thousands of glass spheres that rained down over Max’s head. The shower seemed to go on and on while the metal whined, vibrating menacingly in the air. 

Plaster dust and chunks of brick that had been displaced thudded onto the floor with the glass in unexpected tinkling waves. The room was suddenly full of dust and surprise. 

Max, for the very first time in living memory, seemed utterly speechless. 

They both stared at the wreckage, neither one quite believing what Patsy had just done.

She hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t intended to. She’d just wanted him to go away. She’d just-

“What the fu-“ Max began, voice higher than ever but Patsy didn’t give him time to finish. She was already launching her glass of water at him and he scuttled back. The glass arced way off target, flying high over his head and shattering in another explosion against the hallway wall. More glass scattered across the carpet casting seven shaded rainbows on the white walls as they glinted through the weak morning light.

“Get out!” Patsy screamed, reaching blindly for something else to throw only stopping when her hands found the handle of the kettle. She stormed after the retreating Max, not caring as her feet edged through the broken glass and threw it.

He got out the front door just in time. The kettle thudded against the barrier of the door, boiling water slapping the walls as the empty shell fluttered harmlessly onto the welcome mat. It almost rolled over to show the sizeable dent.

She’d put a lot of force into that last throw. 

Patsy didn’t care, couldn’t care about it. 

It was real then. Delia had really left her. Pig was gone.

Patsy felt herself fade into the waiting darkness of grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem... So, I realise that this was a teensy bit angsty... Umm. Sorry. I rushed this a little bit too so the quality is probably very poor indeed, unis started again and when they told us in our welcome to third year lecture “you’ll have no life, give up your hobbies and kiss your spouses goodbye” they really weren’t using hyperbole.
> 
> Now, the update, are you sad? Angry? Confused or just infuriated with me? Well, what an excellent time for me to suggest a place to vent then.
> 
> Jojo in the shadows, Now see here and me are going to do a zoom meeting tomorrow and it would be really cool if any of you fancied joining in, its open to everyone. Now, I fully realise that the collectively scrape of many an introverts chairs as they back away after reading that suggestion could probably start a small avalanche at the prospect but I promise you it won’t be awful. Here’s our thinking; our fandoms so lovely and I think its pretty much unique in the way we all try to support one another. Under these circumstances and given how great everyone is it seems a bit silly to not try and meet more lovely folks like yourselves especially during these dark times. You can tell Nowseehere how ace her stuff is, you can ask Jojo what’s her favourite poet (dark horse that she is, loved her latest update), you can even tell me off for constantly writing angsty stories (I’m fully aware I’m starting to get a bit of a rep for it). Or just come and meet new people. The world is your mollusc. 
> 
> Details below.
> 
> Topic: AO3 Pupcake zoomies  
> Time: Oct 11, 2020 08:00 PM London (12/noon west coast US, 3pm east coast US, 1pm copanghagen and 7:30am the 12th for Aussies)
> 
> Join Zoom Meeting  
> https://us04web.zoom.us/j/77582794550?pwd=Zk02cEp5YkhwS1VQY2kzTEpWcGw0Zz09  
> Meeting ID: 775 8279 4550  
> Passcode: 4gTcTC


	9. Catatonic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, trigger warnings are in place. This is angsty and theres talk of potential suicide and some gore. Please don’t read this if it’s going to upset you. Wait for the next chapter which will be a bit more cheery as we build to the happy ending. I repeat, any further reading is at your own peril.
> 
> Seriously, it’s me. I wrote the tides torture scene. If I tell you it’s angsty take heed.
> 
> Catatonic  
> Adjective: in an immobile or unresponsive stupor.

Chapter 9

72 hours later.

“PATSY!’ Trixie’s clenched fist banged so hard against the wooden front door in front of her that it sent nerves bouncing in shock along her arm. ‘PATSY! OPEN THE DOOR!” Again her hand punched into the flimsy barrier, daring it to stay up against the fever of her concern.

Nothing. There was no response from inside the mild looking terraced house. Just as there hadn’t been any response to any of Trixie’s increasingly anxious phone calls and text messages since Patsy had gone home, lying badly about being poorly. Today had been the last straw; Patsy hadn’t reported for work and she hadn’t called the bleep to notify the team. No one had heard from her and Delia hadn’t come in either apparently.

Something must be terribly wrong. Patsy was a stickler for rules and regulations, she’d never not call in if she wasn’t planning on turning in for handover, more than that though Patsy was barely ever sick enough to not come into work. It just wasn’t like her, none of it was normal.

It had to be something to do with Delia. 

Trixie’s friend was hardly an open book about her relationships but only a blind man with a bucket on his head could fail to recognise that she was ridiculously in love with Delia Busby. Recently though, the reticence seemed to have drained away somewhat, Trixie had sensed a changing vibe between the pair, a softening of the rigidity Patsy kept herself locked in. Trixie hadn’t been the only one to notice either. Lately it had seemed as though everyone on the team had rather been hoping that some sort of wedding might be about to be announced. Lucille had already checked out venues and prices to give to Patsy when she eventually fessed up.

But then Barbara had told Trixie that she’d seen Delia crying in the stock room, she’d seemed withdrawn during rounds and hadn’t even accepted a bag of humbugs when it was passed around the break room. 

Patsy hadn’t been right either. Trixie had watched her friend for the past week with mounting concern; she didn’t look like she’d slept properly. Half the time Trixie had been tensed for some sort of crying explosion and now this silence. This absence.

Trixie hadn’t known Patsy when Maggie died but she’d heard the gossip. Zombie. That’s what the gossiping receptionist in A&E had told her once.

From the other end of the street a car with an extended exhaust pipe growled away. Faintly Trixie could hear Phyllis mumbling to Patsys neighbour Violet. Violet had an emergency spare house key for when Patsy or Delia were away.

Without consciously understanding the whys every instinct in Trixies body told her that right now her friend was in great need of emergency support.

Losing patience Trixie flipped the letter box, barely noting the thump of junk mail that had been wedged there as it fell onto the mat as she stuck her eye close to the gap. The lights were turned off and it was hard to see much through the thin slot. No movement at all.

They should have come sooner. She’d wanted to come straight after handover but they’d already been swamped amidst a baby boom with one staff down. Phyllis had agreed with her concerns but asked her to wait until the end of the day. Standing here now that choice seemed like it might have been a costly mistake to Trixie. It was too still, dead air.

But Patsy had to be there. Her car was still parked outside even if Delia’s was not.

And where was Delia?

Surely they hadn’t gone away? That made no sense. Patsy would have contacted work. She was too strict to do a bunk like this.

Ineffective as it was Trixie began pounding the door again. “PATSY OPEN THE DAMN DOOR.”

Nothing happened again and Trixie wiped nervous sweat off her forehead as Violet came out of her front door and began to shuffle calmly towards Patsys house with Phyllis in tow.

“Don’t know what to make of it.’ Trixie heard Violet explain slightly breathless at the walk, ‘all I know is one minute Delia asked us to watch Enfys for a few hours, out of the blue like and the next she’s strolling in looking like, well I don’t know what, like someone’s died. I asked her what was wrong and she wouldn’t answer, only says thank you to us for everything we’ve done and then she headed to the car with Pig and drove off. Can’t imagine what could have made her leave so suddenly. She didn’t even say when she’d be back, so unlike her. Then next morning Fred said he saw that ex of Delia’s running out the house like a bat out of I don’t know where. Fred said it sounded like someone was smashing glass from inside. He knocked of course but no one answered. No idea what to make of it. Now, where did I put those keys,’ she grunted as she fumbled in the deep pockets of her thick coat and then produced a set of keys all cut with childish cartoon designs along the metal. Violet must have heard Trixie’s foot tapping impatiently because she looked up a little sheepishly, raising the key like a sort of question as though that was the source of Trixies interest.

‘Silly isn’t it but Patsy took Enfys to get us a key cut and I think she chose the design.” Violets eyes creased as she half smiled, amused at the details.

Trixie was less than worried about key designs, she was more focused on getting inside. The slow methodical opening of a latch had never seemed quite so fascinating as all three women stared at its turn and listened for the resultant pop of the lock.

Then Violet had opened the door, the movement unusually jerky as something that had been wedged in the way was dislodged and rolled off with a metallic clunk. As one they all peered inside, eyes squinting to make out shapes through the gloom.

Well, Phyllis and Violet did at least. Trixie was too full of adrenaline and would have stormed right inside if the solid warning brace of Phyllis’s arm hadn’t been suddenly placed in front of her. Surprised, Trixie blinked up at her colleague indignantly but Phyllis wasn’t looking at her, she was still scanning the hallway, her eyes sharp and calculating.

Violet was the one who broke the silence as she made a small sound, a puff of shock that trailed a hot stream of steam up into the cold evening air. “My giddy aunt, what’s happened here?”

That cut through Trixies hammering thoughts at least and she followed their gaze beadily, a sinking feeling thudding into her chest as she took in the details.

The hallway almost looked normal until you focused and saw the imperfections. Like one of those brain teasers where the more you looked the more dots appeared. The most obvious thing was the glass. There was a lot of glass, a shiny path of it spreading all over the carpet in a sharp toothed booby trap. There were chips in the plaster, a picture, Delia and Pig sitting on a picnic table in the park, looked as though it broken in half, seemingly smashed against the wall. Wooden scraps poked up from the floor like defensive spears.

Trixie inched inside cautiously now, followed closely by Phyllis. 

The glass really was everywhere, sharp little biting clumps that would tear up their feet and clawed at the soles of their shoes. It looked like someone had already stepped through them before foot. There were bloody footprints travelling up the stairs, bloody hand prints on the wall, the bannisters.

It looked like Resus curtains after a haemorrhage.

They should have come this morning. Trixie should have come over when she first worried. Clearly, something terrible must have happened.

Patsy. Patsy had been bleeding so much.

Violet seemed to be more concerned that some sort of robbery had occurred, she was busying herself pulling out her mobile phone. “Should... Should I call the police?” She asked in a wary undertone.

Trixie looked at Phyllis sharply, her eyes begging for the older woman to answer as she didn’t seem to be able to. Phyllis seemed to be more on her thought wave and shook her head. Her lips thin against her teeth.

“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary,’ she said just as quietly. The voice you use in death bedside vigils; firm but polite. ‘I think you should stay down here Mrs Buckle, my colleague and I will just have a look around upstairs before we make any further decisions. Perhaps in the meantime you could make everyone a cup of tea? Best that you make it in your own home though, it wouldn’t do to disturb any of the house just yet.”

So Phyllis was thinking the same thing about what they may be about to find then. The truth of it almost made Trixies knees buckle underneath her. She felt sick. Crime scene. Suicide. Patsy must have done something silly.

The words ran through Trixies mind in a maddening loop. Horrible and plausible. They’d done this training on their one day mental health training in school. Suicides, self harm. What to do and what to say like it could ever be quite that forumulaic. Like anyone really knew what to do when they came across someone they cared about having ended their lives.

Trixie should have come sooner. She should have known something was wrong faster. She should have been a bette friend.

And Delia? Is that why she’d left so quickly?

But Delia would have had the same training. Delia loved Patsy too. She would have called the police if she’d found the body.

So it must have been after she left. 

Violet didn’t seem to want to agree with Phyllis’s suggestion, clearly intrigued by the dark homes changes and the absence of her neighbour. She almost argued, Trixie could see it all over her face, the curiosity, the fresh pool of local gossip all warring with her real concern for her friend and Phyllis’s obvious dismissal. It was easy to know which side won when she capitulated and chose not to fight. Smiling weakly she nodded at Phyllis and took a stalling step back.

“Right. I’ll.... I’ll bring a tray shall I? Four teas, got some nice shortbread in the cupboard too... Bit of sugars good for shock... Right, coming up.”

They both waited until she’d disappeared in a mad bustle of activity, closing the front door carefully like the house might crash around her if she used any more force on its battered walls.

When they were alone Trixie took in a deep calming breath, hearing the way it caught in her chest as the worry constricted her lungs. Phyllis was pale, her lined face hardening with well practiced efficiency. It did no good to fall apart when you worked in healthcare; feelings and hysterics were for people who only had to experience trauma a few times in a lifetime. It wasn’t for people like them.

Trixie was suddenly glad that she’d waited, for all that it might have ended this way. At least she wouldn’t be alone when they found Patsy. Phyllis was a solid sort, the calm in a storm.

The stairs were a brown bloody trail. The scraps of glass had stuck to Patsys feet and scattered as she stepped. The blood on the wall was more vivid, the less absorbent beige paintwork had trapped in the colour. It made it worse somehow when Trixie flicked on the upstairs landing light as they passed.

There were three bedrooms up here. Patsy was in the one furthest from the stairs going from the visual evidence. The footprints had wandered through all three rooms before settling though. Phyllis stepped closer to Trixies back, her breathing deliberately even as they both traced the route with their eyes, neither one willing to enter a room they didn’t have to. Those empty rooms weren’t relevant and it never helped to invite nightmare scenes.

Self care was limiting trauma as best you could. 

Which just left Patsys bedroom to enter.

They did it together, walking slowly, pressing close to one another in silent support.

Inside it was hard to make anything out. The room was pitch black, the blackout curtains bought for rogue night shift work had been drawn tightly shut and lack of light made it impossible to see much at all. 

Phyllis, ever the practical one, turned on the lights as soon as they were close enough. The bulb fizzed above their heads at the zap of electricity and Trixie swore that she could hear it humming amidst in the depth of the silence.

There was a someone shaped lump laying in the bed, the covers had been pulled up over the face, obscuring any further details.

Trixie couldn’t hold herself in place although she knew it was probably too late. There’d been too much blood. Too much destruction.

“Patsy!’ She flung the covers out of the way with a shaky jerk, her fingers landing over a knotted snark of red hair and a pale face. ‘Patsy, it’s Trixie and Phyllis, Patsy can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?” 

Automatic questions she’d run through hundreds of times. Basic responses. Basic assessments that only worked if the patient responded.

She wouldn’t accept the concept that she could be touching a corpse right now. That Patsy could be-

She almost collapsed with relief though when Patsy shocked them both and did respond. Unseeing eyes fluttered open as Trixies knuckles rubbed the hard line of her collar bone. A pain response. 

Not dead. She wasn’t dead just... Sick?

Phyllis had seen the movement too, her footsteps extra loud in the silence as she strode to the bottom of the bed and peeled back the rest of the duvet with a subtle flourish. 

The results made her suck in her cheeks as she surveyed Patsys bloodied feet. 

Trixie left Phyllis to her own assessment as she groped for her friends wrist. The pulse was regular but weak. Carotid was a little better. Patsys lips were white and cracked. Trixies eyes ran down Patsys arms carefully, there were shiny welts half healing along her palms and wrists, looked like burns, chemical or freeze probably from the colour. Choosing a clear patch she pinched Patsys forearm between thumb and forefinger which elicited another sound, a quiet dry hiss from her friend as Trixie mentally counted the seconds for the skin to relax again. She counted for longer than 5. Poor turgor. Dehydrated for certain.

It looked like the tea might come in handy after all.

Phyllis was whistling quietly as she gently tried to lift Patsys feet from the bed sheet. The blood had stuck them down and Patsy flinched. Even from further away Trixie could smell the start of an infection in the small wounds.

Phyllis caught her eye meaningfully from where she was and raised an eyebrow as she mouthed silently “she’s going to need stitches.”

Trixie swallowed experimentally around the hard knot of her trachea and nodded back. “My emergency bags in the boot of the car. I’ve got some A-sceptic packs left over.”

Phyllis sucked in her cheeks again, her mind crystal clear as she focused on business. “They’ll need soaking first.”

“Violet can boil you some water up for us, I’ll find some clean towels and while she’s at that it would be good to see if she has any TCP,’ Trixie gestured wordlessly at Patsys red arms, ‘I don’t like the look of these either. Oh, and perhaps we can see if she’s got any whiskey.”

Phyllis frowned, “alcohol is not a shock preventative, the lass needs Adams ale and lots of it.”

Trixie nearly rolled her eyes. “There’s a saline bag in the boot, I’ll throw in a line. She’ll have a hanger we can use to hang the bag. The whiskeys for me, looks like it’s going to be a long night.”

Phyllis left soon after that, muttering under her breath about Trixie’s willingness to imbibe at a time like this. Trixie didn’t make a retort, still grateful for the womans help but she listened carefully for the muffled sound of conversation in the street and the loud clunk of her car boot being opened.

Alone at last with her friend, Trixie stroked Patsys warm forehead, smoothing away the rather stale and crispy textured hairs out of her blank eyes and tucked them gently back behind Patsys ear. Patsy didn’t seem to be aware that Trixie was here at all, she only blinked slowly, her breathing shallow and too fast.

Trixie sighed and stepped back before walking downstairs and into the kitchen. She should have been over the shock by now but the destruction still took her breath away. There was what looked like half an oven wobbling out of the doorframe. The kitchen floor was thick with broken metal and more glass. There was dark patches of what might have been more old blood on the floor and broken crockery covering nearly every surface.

Three jars that usually sat neatly on the sides seemed to have taken the brunt of the force. Coffee, Horlicks and hot chocolate powder from the smells, the dust hung overly sweet smelling in the air and stained the tiles a rusty brown.

Trixie tried to block all of this out as she picked her way gingerly through the wreckage, unnerved by the drastic alterations to what was usually a spotless kitchen and opened the cupboard by the sink for a glass. There weren’t many left. Whatever had happened was going to require a whole new set of tableware when they managed to get Patsy sorted again. She found a nearly untouched mug at the back of the cupboard, an old gift from a patient probably because it said thank you on the front in cheap peeling letters.

Trixie filled it with water, thought for a moment, then grabbed the washing up bowl from the sink, dumping the unwashed contents onto the side for later. Then she retraced her steps.

Patsy hadn’t moved from where Trixie had left her when she returned. Her eyes were open, her mouth hanging slightly ajar as she curled and uncurled her fingers.

Trixie shuddered, disturbed at Patsys total lack of response as she deposited the mug and bowl on the dresser and then walked to the window. The light was fading but the room smelt too stuffy. She opened the curtains carefully and then flung open the window as far as it would go, sounds barrelled into the room along with the cold evening air that trailed goosebumps along Trixie’s bare wrists. Fresh air was helpful. It was important to get the sickness out. 

Returning to the bed Trixie crouched down so that their eyes were on the same level and squeezed Patsys wrists experimentally.

“Patsy. Patsy can you hear me?”

Patsy blinked, her mouth twitching slightly as though trying to frame words.

Trixie sniffed, unimpressed with the poor show of effort and slid her arm behind Patsy neck to lift her up slightly. “Patsy, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

This seemed to reach somewhere a little deeper. Patsy turned her head side to side, slowly, as though trying to shake the thoughts away. “Go away Trixie.” 

The voice didn’t sound like Trixie’s friend. It sounded too weak, too fragile, too quiet. All that patented strength of character that anyone who would describe Patience Mount might use completely gone.

Trixie shook her head right back. Not accepting any of this nonsense anymore.

Shuffling one thigh onto the bed she managed to get Patsy to sit up a little through a complicated pairing of brute force and knowledge of human leverage, Patsys muscles seemed to obey on autopilot. Once positioned a bit higher Trixie picked up the mug and brought it up to Patsys mouth. “Slowly,’ she warned firmly, ‘small sips. I don’t think you’re well sweetie.”

Patsy drank like a child, not looking at Trixie. Too fast and too thirsty.

No one ever took small sips.

Ten seconds later Patsys body went rigid and she shot out of Trixie’s tight hold to vomit. Trixie was already waiting with the washing up bowl. The vomit was mainly bile; yellow and acrid smelling. She hadn’t eaten much.

Trixie tutted, waiting for the slapping sounds of deluge to subside before propping the half full bowl back on the floor and tugging Patsy to lay next to her. Patsys breath left a lot to be desired and her lips had split more into fine cracking lines that bled slightly from the effort of her retching. Trixie absentmindedly wiped her friends mouth with a corner of duvet and wrapped herself securely around Patsys shuddering frame. Her skin was burning hot, her heart beating so hard Trixie could feel it thudding against her skin through their combined clothing.

The air was full of crying, terrible ripping sobs that spilled out between them. The pressure and grief was so solid it felt like it was a foot crushing down onto Trixies neck. The fresh air only left them both cold.

Trixie wasn’t sure what to say so she waited for a while until Patsy ran out of tears. Given the level of dehydration it didn’t take too long, there wasn’t a lot in her left to expend. When all was still again Trixie followed a tear with the point of her finger and wiped it away like she could fix this that easily. Patsys lack of response, her total lack of fight was frightening. All of this was frightening.

“Patsy, what’s happened?” Delia. This would be about Delia. It had to be. 

Patsy screwed her eyes closed like she couldn’t bare to see Trixie’s concern. “They’re gone.” She whispered flatly.

Trixie rubbed Patsys arm slowly, trying to keep her talking. Downstairs the door had slammed open and shut, Violets broader London accent was humming from the hallway. There was a telltale rattle of cups. “Who? Whose gone Pats?” But Trixie thought she could guess. 

Patsy tensed under her hands, her inhales deepening as though she was struggling to breathe properly. “Delia... Pig... They’ve gone. They hate me. They’ve gone.”

Trixie couldn’t see Patsys expression properly, couldn’t really fathom any of this. Didn’t make sense. “You mean you had a fight? Where did they go?”

Patsy shook her head, tears tracking the curve of her cheeks, spilling down her chin. “Max. Max told me- They’ve gone. I ruined everything Trix. They’re not coming back.”

Phyllis was coming upstairs.

“What do you mean?’ Trixies questions were sharper now, certain that Patsy would clam up when Phyllis entered the room. ‘What happened?”

Patsy was crying again, dry heaving tears. “E-Emma. I fucked everything up. She hates me. They all hate me. I’ve lost them.”

“Ahh, you’re sitting up a bit better. That’s a good sign.” Phyllis breezed in with Trixies medical bag strapped to her back and a tray of tea in her hands. Violet had even taken the time to spread biscuits out on a cheerful blue plate. Golden fat wedges of buttery shortbread studded with rich dark chocolate chunks. 

The tray was dutifully balanced on the empty side of the bed as Phyllis stood with her hands on her hips, gazing softly at her colleagues. “Mrs Buckle is going to make up some hot salt water in a bowl Nurse Mount. You’ve got some nasty cuts on those feet of yours. Best we get them tidied up before you start walking around again.”

Patsys head had fallen more heavily on Trixies shoulder, her eyes dead again. 

“What’s the point?’ Patsy asked without inflection. ‘Doesn’t matter anymore.”

Trixie sucked in a breath, the despair a crushing presence between them.

Phyllis seemed to disregard this statement instantly as she raised an imperious eyebrow, pinning Patsy with her frank stare. “Now, I’ll have none of that Patience; I don’t tolerate self pity at the best times. I don’t know what’s happened but I know what’s going to happen now. Nurse Franklin is going to get you some fluids, I’m going to clean your feet. We’re going to eat some food and then after that we’ll have to see what can be done about the rest. Is that clear lass?”

The question wasn’t really a request. It was a statement of facts that none of them were going to avoid.

It did seem to work slightly, Patsy glared back at Phyllis, her fists clenched at her sides as they played a silent game of chicken. Phyllis won of course, she wasn’t the one who was a few hours from total collapse after all. Bitterly Patsy shut her eyes to block them all out.

“They’re gone.” Was all she’d say after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so here ends the angst. We’re through the worst bit and they will get back together, they will live happily ever after and they will have hot make up sex. Promise.
> 
> Thanks to Jojo in the shadows for reading this through and pointing out the crazy levels of angst.
> 
> For anyone affected by this or upset please know that you are not alone. It does get better and there are support networks out there.
> 
> Samaritans https://www.samaritans.org/how-we-can-help/contact-samaritan/


	10. Yearning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yearning.  
> noun; a feeling of intense longing for something or someone.

2 months later.. 

“That’s it! I’m coming round right now.”

Patsy sighed and closed her eyes, resigning herself to the fact that her plan of having this conversation via text alone wasn’t going to work. “Trixie,’ she said mildly at the phone laid out beside her on loudspeaker, ‘you’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous?’ Trixie grumbled irritably. ‘Patsy it’s your 30th birthday.”

“Yes,’ Patsy replied dryly, ‘I’m aware of what day it is thanks.”

“Well then.’ Trixie snapped as something clunked off in the background. A shoe maybe. ‘As your best friend how can seriously expect me to just allow you to mope around like this?”

“I’m not moping.’ Patsy defended flatly, ‘I’m just not making a big deal out of it, that’s all. It’s just another day.”

“Thirty is not just any other day. We should be going out, painting the town red.”

Patsy barely stifled a yawn, she was currently in her cosiest pyjamas and laying on the sofa with her legs folded. In lew of the chill outside she’d opted for a pair of fluffy socks nabbed from the remains of Delias drawers. They had little sheep around the top. “I’ve already said no, I’m not in the mood Trix. It wouldn’t be fun.”

“We could go to Soho, hit the bars. You never know, you might get lucky if you actually make a bit of effort.” Her tone emphasised the might a little too strongly. She’d been nagging Patsy about looking drab since the start of this month.

Patsy shook her head, half amused and half annoyed. “I’m not sure what you think a one night stand is going to do for me Trixie but you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m not interested.”

“Well it might give you the kick up your arse you need. Take your mind off of everything.”

Patsy sighed again. “Trix... I can’t. I just don’t see other women like that. I-‘ she could feel the familiar warning signs that she was about to start crying again and clamped down hard. She’d had a lot of practice these last few months. ‘Delia was the One. I don’t want anyone else. Wouldn’t even want to try. I know you think you’re helping but I don’t want to go out. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.’ Trixie disagreed curtly, ‘you’re miserable...’ she trailed off, always cautious whenever her intended topic came up. Patsy recognised the pause instinctively and stiffened. Tensed for the impending blow. ‘I don’t suppose that you’ve heard from-“

“No.’ Patsy cut her off quickly so she didn’t have to hear Delia’s name, trying not to sound like this fact hurt her at all. ‘Not even a card. Just like I said that there wouldn’t be. My dad sent me one though.’ She picked the polished hallmark number up from the table beside her and turned it around absently. ‘My brother signed his name at the bottom too. Joined up writing and everything now. I was surprised father remembered to be honest, then again I suppose everyone thinks about the big birthdays don’t they?” Everyone except Delia apparently.

No card. No present. Not even a text. 

“That’s unbelievable.’ Trixies tone told Patsy clearly that she wasn’t talking about Patsys father. ‘It’s bad enough that she never answered you when you asked to have Pig today. Not to even send a card...’ She tutted and then paused, her voice turning speculative. ‘Maybe... Maybe it would help if I-“

“No.’ Patsys face stiffened again. Forcing on a tight mask of indifference. ‘We’ve been over this. I don’t need you to call Delia on my behalf. If she wanted to speak to me then she would. Adding more people into it will only make it worse.”

“Well someone should tell her.’ Trixie snapped. ‘She ought to know the damage she caused.”

“I don’t think she’d care.’ Patsys voice wobbled only a little bit. She’d been practicing. It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, she’d just got better at pretending that it didn’t. ‘Probably for the best anyway. A few more months and Pig won’t remember who I am.”

So perhaps that last bit was simple self pity but hell, Patsy felt she was owed a bit of pity given how badly everything had turned. 

Two months, two whole months without physically seeing her daughter or Delia. She felt the loss like slices in her skin. It was like being dead but still walking around. Even when Maggie first died she hadn’t felt like this, like she’d left a part of herself with someone else. Like she was missing whole chunks of her body and soul.

Delia had called her all of twice since she’d gone. Once had been a voicemail that Patsy had picked up a few days after Trixie had found her. The message had simply been to explain that they’d reached Wales safely and that she’d be in touch soon to sort out how Pig could see Patsy in the short term. The second call had been ten days later and was done in three minutes, both of them awkward and stilted. Delia was well, Patsy was well. They had at least agreed that Pig would call Patsy for half an hour each evening over FaceTime though.

At the time Patsy would have said that that was fair as an arrangement short term however the calls were now her personal version of hell presided over by Eileen or, infrequently, Delia’s father John. Delia did not join in. Admittedly it wasn’t so bad when John did the calls, he was a quiet unassuming man and Patsy had always rather liked him before this mess. John would sit Pig on his lap and prompt her when she trailed off in silence about the things she’d been up to. 

Eileen however was an entirely different kettle of fish. Possibly Pirhanas. Eileen wouldn’t keep Pig still or focused, she’d talk over Pig when she tried to tell Patsy what she’d been up to, glaring at the camera as though the girl had been caught trying to give away government secrets. She would end the calls early too, sometimes only a few minutes in stating primly that her grand daughter was “tired” or else she would loudly claim that the calls were upsetting Pig and all the while hinting darkly that they should end permanently. 

The clear message was that Eileen believed Patsy should not be in contact with her family at all. An unwelcome addition that would be removed by increments until no one noticed.

Pig herself made everything so much harder. Without any script or indication from Delia as to what she should say to explain this rapid schism Patsy had no real way to know what she should or shouldn’t tell the girl. Pig was asking Patsy daily now when Patsy was coming to sleep over at Grandmas house. She asked her if she was missing them, clearly frustrated at Patsys absence and vague explanations. She’d wanted to show Patsy her bedroom too but Eileen had scuppered that every time. Pig had started a new school in the village apparently but whenever Patsy asked how it was she’d only shrug. 

Most of the time it seemed to Patsy that Pig didn’t know what to say. Two months was a long time to a seven year old. In a year or so Patsy could foresee herself becoming just a distant memory to the girl  
she had raised. 

Patsy was increasingly having to hold back tears before the call ended. The distance was destroying her. Seeing Pig on a phone was not the same as having her in her arms. Every time they set eyes on each other she’d feel her skin prickle with dissatisfaction, her arms weighing down at her sides like they’d been filled with lead, desperate to reach out and hold her daughter. To steal her home.

She’d texted Delia every day in the first month, she told her she loved her. She missed her. She wanted them home. She’d sent flowers to the Busby home, one a day in as many types as she could find until Delia had asked her in a short message to stop. She’d sent a letter hoping that having everything written down properly might receive a different response but Delia hadn’t even mentioned receiving it. She’d tried to call but, of course, Delia hadn’t answered. Pembrokehsire didn’t have the greatest signal but Patsy couldn’t blame two months of unanswered calls only on environment.

Plain facts were Delia had shut off any contact. They were done.

This month Patsy hadn’t bothered to try the calls again. The rejection was too harsh. 

The pause had gone on a trace too long. Trixie interrupted with fame brightness. “Have you been out of the house today? We could go for a walk, the weathers not too bad.”

“Already been out.’ Patsy grunted, nettled. 

“Oh?’ Trixie sounded relieved now, ‘where did you go?”

“Cemetery. Went and put some flowers on Maggies grave.”

“Oh.’ The relief had vanished, ‘well that’s not really what... Do you do that alot?”

“Not really anymore.’ Patsy stretched from her well worn space on the too big sofa. ‘Just the big occasions; birthdays, Christmas and things. Took Pig up there when she was first born so Mags would meet her.”

“Jesus,’ Trixie muttered, ‘no wonder Delia left you.” 

And suddenly Patsy was breathing through shards of glass again, the obviously intended joke missing the mark and battering against her fragile ego like a sledgehammer.

“... Sorry. Too soon?” Trixie said sheepishly.

Patsy gritted her teeth as she tried to force her voice to sound normal, her skin felt paper thin. “Just... Just a little bit.” She gasped shakily.

“I only meant that it’s a bit much isn’t it? I was sort of hoping when you said that you’d been out you’d done something nice for yourself.”

I won’t play second fiddle to Maggie. That was what Delia had said.

“So what?’ Patsy sat up straight, her hackles rising. ‘She was my wife! What am I supposed to do, just forget her?”

“No, that’s not-“ Trixie tried to soothe but it didn’t work.

“Frankly, I can’t understand why people can’t get their heads around it.’ Patsy huffed with some of her old haughtiness. ‘She was my wife Beatrix, we were married. It doesn’t mean that I’m not capable of being in a committed relationship now or that I’m comparing things. I just happen to believe that the vows I made should be at least recognised. That’s it. What is everybody’s problem with that!”

Patsy broke off, belatedly aware that she’d been shouting. The companionable silence on the other end of the phone told her that Trixie knew she was referring to only one person in that rant and it wasn’t her.

“I think I should come round.” Trixies voice sounded too concerned now. The nurse professional twist rearing up in the same careful way it had when she’d first found Patsy after Delia left.

Patsy hurried to correct herself, annoyed she’d let herself talk out of place. “No. Honestly Trixie, I’m fine. I don’t want company.”

“You’re not fine Patsy!’ Trixie sounded bored. ‘I wish you’d stop telling everyone that, like it’s some deep dark secret, people will understand. You’re not the first person to go through a break up you know.”

“I know. I-‘ Patsy couldn’t stop the stupid tears. Some faucet behind eyes seemed to be permanently set to drip at everything these days. ‘Thanks Trixie but I’d really rather be alone today.”

“Just one drink?’ Trixie pleaded, ‘Barbara, Lucille, Jenny and Val are all coming. You know Barbara’s hilarious when she’s drunk. It’ll be a laugh, might be just what you need.”

“Tempting offer but no, I’m really alright as I am.’ As though to cement this statement Patsy settled back down onto the sofa. ‘Can’t miss my evening call with Pig.”

“Being alone doesn’t help all the time Patsy... I don’t want you to do something silly.”

Something silly.

Like cutting all of her hair off maybe. Or quitting her job. 

It was a strange phrase to use really. Like there was anything silly about wanting to die. She hadn’t actually been doing anything of the sort; she was almost certain it that. She hadn’t been intending to physically end her life, she’d just planned on staying under those covers until it ended of its volition. Still. It had taken Patsy a few days to realise that Trixie and Phyllis had genuinely believed the fact that she’d attempted to kill herself. They’d tip toed painfully around the whole ordeal of course, frightened to confront her; they’d kept the fridge stocked with food, called every few hours and somehow managed to remove nearly all paracetamol boxes along with her belts and shoelaces from the premises until they were certain she could be trusted again. Violet had been nearly constantly on the front step too, bringing round cups of tea and a new knitted jumper to keep warm. Patsy had barely had time to be alone before someone turned up on some pretence of a social call.

Not that she resented it. Not at all, She appreciated the care of course but it was starting to get on her nerves now.

They must have been truly worried.

Patsy felt her mouth twist into the closest thing she could manage to a smile, her nerves softening against the clear show of affection from her friend even while her heart squeezed tightly in her chest. “I’m just sad Trixie. That’s all I can say really. I loved her; Delia, Pig. I love them. Maybe it’ll go away eventually but to be honest all I want to do is cry. All the time, it’s driving me mad. I know you’re worried about me but that’s it, I promise. I’m not going to top myself,’ she tried to laugh, ‘you’ve still got my belt anyway.”

“I was only looking at it.” Trixie parried nervously.

“All four of them?” Patsys lips twitched at the ridiculous lie.

“Yeah... Well...You didn’t see what you looked like when we found you... And I still think Delia should know the damage she’s causing.”

“I doubt she’d care.’ Patsy told the ceiling gloomily, ‘she’s probably already found some nice Welsh bloke to forget me with.”

“I don’t believe that,’ Trixie said more gently now, ‘No one falls out of love that quickly and I saw both of you together. She loves you too Pats, she’ll come round.”

Patsy swiped at her cheeks, glad that no one could see her crying and tried to sound like she wasn’t falling apart. “I really messed everything up Trix.”

“And you’ve paid for it.’ Trixie insisted sharply, they’d gone through this too many times. ‘Look, letting Emma into the house was a stupid move, we both know you messed up there but you don’t deserve to suffer like this. I’ve got a right mind to let Delia know what she’s done, it’s out of order.”

Patsy had heard all of this already, she pressed onto calmer waters. Too tired for an argument. “She’s got to do what she thinks is best.” 

“I still don’t know why you haven’t gone up there.’ Trixie griped. ‘You could win her back face to face. She’d give in if you went big.”

Patsy sighed again and rubbed her forehead. There was a headache starting up back there. 

What could she say? She’d tried several times to make the drive. So far she’d stopped at Swindon services twice before turning back. The image of Delia’s expression as she slammed the door in Patsys face made her feel sick and she’d had to turn back. 

“Trix, come on, it’s my birthday. Give me at least one day where I don’t get rejected, please?” This was playing dirty but it worked.

“I don’t want you to be on your own today.” Trixie repeated for what felt like the millionth time.

Patsy sighed and tried to inject as much enthusiasm as she could. “Well you shouldn’t be. I’m going to order a takeaway and watch a film. Might have a sad wank if I can be bothered. There. Is that enough?”

“Tears as lube?” Trixie was smirking through the phone, Patsy just knew it.

Patsy grinned. “Did you know if you sit on your hand long enough and make it go numb it feels like a stranger.”

Trixie laughed. “Enough. Well, since you’re letting everyone down I might as well get out there for both of us. Call you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here.” Patsy promised with as much sincerity as she could muster even as she crossed her fingers slyly.

There was always the hope that she would just die in her sleep to keep her going she supposed.

After the call Patsy tried to keep her promise, she really did. 

True to her word she did order a takeaway, picking her way through the vast array of junk mail fliers she hadn’t had the energy to throw away. She chose Chinese mainly for the ribs but by the time it arrived she’d lost her appetite for it. She barely managed to force the rice down before giving up on the meal entirely. She left the rest in the fridge for tomorrow morning. 

After that she’d stared at the ceiling for a while. Thinking of all the things she should have done differently.

She should have rugby tackled Delia. Or kicked the bags out the window. That could have bought her more time, she might have stopped Delia leaving.

She should have run down the street. Should have begged.

She’d flicked through the tv menu for a film aimlessly when the light faded entirely and settled on a trashy horror flick, pointedly scrolling past the endless rom-com selections. She didn’t want to watch happy endings when they weren’t real. They didn’t happen. Shit happened, then you died.

She managed to watch the first twenty minutes before she got bored and muted the screen.

Her laptop was on the side table and, even knowing that it would only depress her even more, she quickly switched it on and scrolled through her video library. Jonesing for a fix like any other junkie.

She was, as Delia had pointed out more than once, just a little neurotic when it came to order. She liked things to be neat. She liked to know where things were. It came as no surprise to anyone that when Pig was born she’d therefore carefully compiled all the video’s of just about anything and everything she could.

They were all saved on her laptop now, ordered into dates with tidy summaries as file titles. 

She’d initially saved them all intending to show Pig when she was 18. A memory box of things the girl might have forgotten. The people that had passed through her life.

When she’d first started the library it hadn’t occurred to her then that when Pig reached 18 she, Patsy, might have become the someone Pig had forgotten. 

Now the array of brightly coloured video clips felt more like evidence. Evidence that Patsy had existed, she had been there. Delia might wish she hadn’t existed but she had. She had existed even if it felt like she didn’t matter anymore.

It mattered because of that really. 

She flopped back onto the sofa and flicked into the first random video her finger found.

Pig at 17 weeks old, sitting in her yellow and green polka dot high chair, banging her milk bottle on it’s hard plastic tray. Fat legs swinging as she garbled loudly with the drooling mouth that had preceded months of teething. She was only starting to make sounds then but in this clip she was shouting. Just a mess of ra-Ma- Pa noises. Baby talk. The cameras picture wobbled slightly as Patsy heard herself chuckle in the background.

“Anything else to say chatty girl?’ She asked Pig, her hand reaching into the screen to wipe at Pigs damp chin with a wet wipe. ‘Your chins getting sore.”

Pig giggled and wiggled harder, her damp chin holding Patsys finger trapped in her neck as Delia popped into the frame holding a thick wedge of carrot.

“That first tooth will be here soon. Just got to get through the gums haven’t we Cariad?” Delia told the gabbling baby, her cheeks dimpling as Pig picked the carrot from her hand and promptly dropped it straight onto the floor. Laughing at her own joke.

The clip ended and Patsy raced to pick another one, glutton for punishment.

Pigs first birthday, dressed in a hideous green dress and tights set sent from Patsys father. Eileen was hovering in the background with Delia’s father, maintaining polite distance from Fred and Violet. Pig was squished on the sofa, propped between Delia’s knees. A sparkling, candle ladened Colin the Caterpillar cake was revealed as they all sang happy birthday in various tones of bad. Eileen steadfastly singing the entire tune in Welsh which rather ruined the renditions flow. 

Patsys hand held the cake close enough for Pig to blow out the candles. Pig looked only slightly lost as Delia bent forward and whispered in her ear what to do. The candles went out with only a few spit tinged puffs and they all cheered and clapped. Pig clapping bemusedly a little behind the beat as she beamed up at all of her assembled family. 

The cake vanished as Patsy put it onto the table and Pig jumped over to land in Patsys arms. The camera shuddered as Patsy twisted the lens to point towards their faces. Pigs chubby cheeks were burrowing into her neck as she burbled. “Ma.”

They looked so happy. God, she looked younger there, her smile was broad. Delia watching them with her head cocked, her eyes soft. What was it? Six years ago? Felt longer.

It was torture. And she couldn’t stop herself watching it all, like her life was stuck jolting along on permanent fast forward.

Pigs fourth Christmas. The film captured Delia just as she tried to hide her glass of wine when the camera started rolling, her cheeks were flushed pink as she glanced up at Patsy, stood somewhere behind the phone. They’d been sleeping together by then. 

The look in her eye was a familiar one and Patsy felt a sympathetic answering tug in her gut even now. She wanted to believe that Delia remembered that. That a part of her might miss Patsy.

Pig was in her Christmas pyjamas, the little red slippers poking out from crossed legs as she watched The Gruffalo avidly. Her head propped on Delia’s shoulder. Christmas tree lights sparkled gold in the dark brown of their hair.

The bells when they came 39 seconds in were only just faintly discernible on the clip but the filming Patsy heard them and prompted Pigs attention to it though with a loud dramatic gasp. “Shh! What’s that? Pig? Can you hear that? What is it?”

Pig gasped so hard she almost fell off the sofa, her pudgy fingers in her mouth as she strained to listen too. “It’s bells... It’s santa!” She whispered, her whole body wriggling with shock and excitement.

Delia leaned forward, her hand cupping her ear. “Shh? Can you hear-“

But the question was rendered pointless by the loud “HO HO HO!” hollered at volume through the carefully cracked front window. It was so loud in fa t that the film Patsy actually jumped. There was a tinkle as she’d swiftly bent to put her own glass down.

Santa was knocking very loudly on the front door. Pig jumped up and down on the spot, “it’s santa mam, Santa’s coming, Santa’s here.”

“Calm down, we’re going. Come on, have you got his mince pie ready?” Delia reminded Pig patiently as they jostled into the hall.

Film Patsy hurried to catch up but Pig had already opened the front door by the time the camera went round the doorway.

Fred, in all his red jacketed magnificence was stood on the doorstep. A large sack that had originally held bricks and been hurriedly painted brown was slung over his shoulder. His black boots trailed professionally acquired sooty footprints onto the pre-prepared baby powdered street. Violet was somewhere further along, clanging the smallest bells she could find which weren’t all that small but certainly struck a chord.

“Ho Ho Ho!” Fred bellowed again, clearly enjoying his role as santa a little too much. 

Pig gazed at him, open mouthed and shy, tucked between Delia’s knees in utter awe of the mystical made flesh.

“Now, is there a little girl who lives here?” Fred boomed, hands on his belt.

Pig only stood, star struck. Delia nudged her forward with a little push. “Go on Cariad, give Santa his pie.”

Pig edged closer, her little hand shaking as she proffered the small treat. 

Fred knelt down, his snowy false beard getting slightly tangled in the fold of his baggy trousers and took the pie gently. “Hello, what’s your name?”

Pig seemed frozen in a kind of happy terror. “Enfys.” She whispered, knuckles in her mouth.

“Enfys? That’s a pretty name and have you been a good girl this year Enfys?” Santa enquired, picking up a professional patter.

“-Es.” Pig looked stunned.

“Has she mummies?” Fred looked expectantly to the camera and Delia.

Delia laughed, one hand disappearing back out of shot to twine themselves around Patsys outstretched fingers.

“She’s been good Santa, hasn’t she Pats?” Delia teased while Pig looked on, eyes round.

Patsy chuckled, slipping her arm around Delia’s waist. “Oh I think so Santa. She’s a good kid.’ The camera jostled and only Delia would have heard Patsy murmer in her ear. ‘But her mams on the naughty list.” Delia raised her eyebrows, lips pursed to hide her smirk but she didn’t reply. 

“Well,’ Fred patted his stomach expansively as he groped around in his velvet pocket. ‘In that case, Merry Christmas Enfys.’ A tiny paper parcel was dropped into Pigs sagging arms and the patented Santa voice vanished as Fred slid into his usual cockney. ‘Now what you have to do is consider that you’re starter packet sweetheart. I can’t carry it all to the doors, need the reindeers for the big stuff.”

In the present day Patsy tried to block out the sound of Delia giggling in the background. The noise was causing her heart to clench painfully. As she recalled they’d both already drank a lot of wine when this had happened. They’d almost broken the rules when Pig went to bed that night too.

Evading the pain she hurriedly ended that clip and opened another one.

Pigs first steps. All three of them stood in the garden. Pig sheltered in Delia’s arms, squirming on unbalanced feet. 

“Quick. Are you filming?” Delia asked the camera, chewing her bottom lip as she tried to hold onto Pigs struggling impatient limbs.

“Yeah, it’s on.’ Patsy sounded breathless. She’d run to get her phone for this. ‘Managed to get this just in time, didn’t we? And it’s finally happened. Pigs finally walking, aren’t you baby?”

Pigs chubby fists clenched around air, reaching for Patsy between the empty space.

On some unseen signal Delia nodded to herself and relaxed her grip, walking Pig out slowly step by step. “Go on Cariad, go to Patsy.”

Pig shuddered as Delia finally let her go and tottered slightly to the left. Her feet turning in as she grew accustomed to the freedom. 

“Come on my little Piglet, you can do it.” Patsy called, her hand reaching out to fill the small gap between them. Pig squeaked, tongue between her tiny teeth, face folded in concentration as she made the two independent steps on her own before nearly falling flat on her face. Patsy got to her just in time and Delia half ran in a crouch to help swing Pig into the air. 

“Yay, clever girl!”

Blinking through the fog of tears Patsy picked another clip. Delia laying on the sofa with Pig draped on her chest, just a few weeks old. She’d been watching the rugby, starting Pig young she’d said. 

And another. Patsy trying to teach Pig to do thumbs up and failing spectacularly. 

And another. And another. There were too many memories.

Fuck! Patsy didn’t even bother to rub away the tears, they’d just keep coming anyway. Not as though anyone was here to see her.

Delia really wasn’t coming back and nothing was the same.

These two months seemed to have aged her ten years. She felt old. Hollow inside. The burning, all consuming want for her family was too hard to bare. 

She couldn’t bare it.

It was with a sense of relief that her phone interrupted the self flagellation session.

Trixie. A picture was attached to the poorly spelled message of the blonde with her arm slung around a short haired woman’s neck that Patsy didn’t recognise. They seemed to be in a dark night club. The fluorescent lights gave the whole scene a strange ethereal quality. The message beneath it said, “this is Sarah, I’ve showed her your picture and she says you’re fit. Shall I give her your number?”

Patsy snorted and checked the clock. It was shocking to realise that she’d been zoned out for nearly three hours. From the look of the picture Trixie looked well on the way to being completely wasted. 

Shaking her head Patsy texted back a quick reply of “definitely not.” And put her phone down.

Another video, one she didn’t remember. Pig at two was all the summary said. Watching the small dark box flick into life on the screen it took Patsy a second to realise why she didn’t remember it.

Ahh, Delia had taken this one apparently. 

The lens panned out on the upstairs landing, must have been late because everything was dark, the curtains pulled tight shut in Pigs room as Delia crept inside.

“So, Pigs been having some growing pains,’ Delia whispered, creeping silently on the usually creaky floorboard near the door ‘and Patsy took the night shift.’ The screen blurred, the grey shadows making it hard to make anything out.

“Oh,’ Delia coo’d quietly, ‘look such that. I knew it. Softy.”

There was Patsy, slumped in Pigs rocking chair with Pig folded in her lap. They were both asleep and must have been for some time given the drool on Pigs chin. Delia laughed as she got closer and Patsy knew why. Her sleeping self was snoring quietly, head bent back uncomfortably on the edge of the chair.

“Miss I don’t snore strikes again. Finally have evidence for my evil plan.” Delia whispered, her pale hand floating into view as she stroked a wisp of hair out of Patsys sleeping face, finger curling around her cheek. “Cariad- Wake up, it’s night time sweethe-“ The video ended before the sleeping Patsy could open her eyes.

In the real world Patsys own skin prickled, as though it remembered that touch. The ghost imprint of Delia’s fingers. Before Delia hated her.

Her phone bleeped again. Trixie, another picture, another stranger. “This is Melanie, she’s got scissors.”

Patsy groaned. “Where are you? If she has scissors she’s probably going to mug you, I hope you’re drinking water.”

Trixie. “Is scissoring even a real thing?”

Patsy rolled her eyes. “It’s the quickest way to get knee’d in the face that I know of.”

Trixie. “I think I’m going to go for girls. Stephs just bought me two shots.”

Patsy. “I thought it was Melanie?”

Trixie. “I told her I didn’t want to be kicked in the face and she walked off.” 

Patsy. “Somehow I’m not surprised. Drink some water please.”

Mildly impatient at her friends total lack of limits whenever she went out for a drink Patsy firmly put the phone down and returned to her videos. It still pinged a few more times where it sat but she ignored it. She wasn’t interested in Trixie’s attempts at distraction.

Another video. Pig at three, her nursery t-shirt mucky with paint splatters, sitting on the living room carpet. Patsy could make out her legs crossed at the ankle and Delia’s elbow resting on Patsys thigh.

“Pig, whose your best friend?” Patsy asked mischievously, one hand waving pointedly at herself hopefully while Delia laughed.

Pig bit her lip, one finger in her mouth, her smile showing two missing front teeth. Patsy remembered the way she’d whistled every time she tried to speak until her mouth adjusted to the gap.

“Umm.’ Pig debated, eyes glinting with amusement. “Georgie. Georgie is my best friend.”

“Georgie!’ Patsy repeated in mock outrage, her hand clutching her chest. ‘But, but, but? What about me?”

Pig giggled, her tongue curling around her knuckle as she sucked it contemplatively before she shook her head. “No. Georgie.” She insisted. A new friend at nursery had stolen her heart.

“Oh. I see how it is. Out with the old.’ Video Patsy sniffed and then lent forward, Pigs face growing in size. ‘Right, in that case then, you’re not my best friend anymore either.”

Pigs finger was withdrawn sharply as she jumped to her feet, insulted. “No! That’s not fair.”

“Yep.’ Patsy said loftily, the camera shaking as she shuffled purposefully closer to Delia, her voice muffled as she rubbed her cheek against Delia’s. ‘Way of the world. Mamma’s my best friend now. I love mama.”

Pigs eyes widened in indignation. “No Pats!” She ordered sulkily.

Delia laughed, the camera rocked as her elbow rose and she wrapped her arms around Patsys neck and pulled her in closer, “sorry Cariad, Patsy’s my best friend too.”

Pig chewed her lip and then crawled in between them, legs shoving to try and force them apart while trying not to giggle when the adults clung together dramatically. The camera was pointed somewhere at the ceiling but Patsy could remember it. Could remember the weight of Delia and Pig surroundings her like the best blanket. “No, I’m Patsy’s best friend mam.”

It wasn’t normal to cry and smile at the same time was it? No. Probably meant she was on route for some kind of stroke.

Without willing it Patsy ran her thumb over Delia’s frozen face. They’d been happy. Why hadn’t they just said the truth? It was right there. She could see it in their idiotic faces. So much waste. So much useless heartache. 

And the bloody phone was going off. Again! Really?

Frustrated that Trixie couldn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space Patsy groped for the phone and shoved it hard against her ear. “Trixie! Enough already. I swear to God if you’re scissoring right now, I will kill you.”

“Err, Pats? Is this a bad time?”

The response in Patsy could only be compared to something like a freight train or a bull dozer. Something violent and absolutely devastating. It was like someone had reached in and pulled her entire spine out. Her head swam as her heart pushed a furious tempo in her chest. Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t breathe because Delia had called her. She’d actually called her.

Patsys face felt numb. Perhaps she hadn’t been too far off the mark thinking about strokes earlier.

God. She’d missed that voice. Videos didn’t do it justice. The way Delia could say her name wasn’t fair at all. 

“Pats? Hello? Are you still there?” 

Patsy realised that she was staring at the wall open mouthed and quickly tried to get herself together. She could do this. Cool and aloof. Cool and aloof and little bit queasy. “I’m here.” She said it too fast so that the words got a bit garbled. 

Pensive, she bunched her hands closed, letting her nails cut into her palms. She needed to get this right. No one liked needy. Cool and aloof. Cool and aloof.

Delia had called her. Delia was actually speaking too her. 

Cool and aloof.

“Is this a bad time? I’m sorry it’s so late.” Delia’s voice sounded off. Maybe that was just nerves though.

She wasn’t alone. Patsys stomach was doing some sort of back flip routine and she was fervently glad that she hadn’t eaten anything past the rice. 

She bit her lip, counting to four in her head before replying, desperately hoping that she could keep up nonchalance when her mind was melting into a useless goo. “No. No, that’s fine. It’s... It’s nice to hear your voice and I’ve got ten minutes, I suppose. What’s up?” There. Definitely struck the right tone. She was in control. Definitely. 

Delia made a snort of derision from four hundred miles away that said Patsys opinion of her performance was most likely wrong. “How nice of you to fit me in.’ She said dryly. ‘Look, I know this is going to sound ridiculous but is Pig with you?”

Patsy frowned, thrown by the unlikely question and suddenly afraid that Delia had only called to twist the knife further. “No... Why would she be? Is this supposed to be your idea of a joke?”

“What?’ Delia was distracted, insulted perhaps. ‘Of course not. Are you on your own?”

Unnerved now Patsy pointlessly scanned her living room on the slim chance a small herd of people had migrated inside without her noticing. “More than I’ve ever been in my life. Why?”

“Sit down, we need to talk.”

Patsy felt fear nudge it’s way into her body like an unwelcome guest. Nothing ever good had come from a sentence containing the words we need to talk. 

“Why? What’s happened? What’s wrong? Has something happened to Pig?” Even as she said it a small part of her thoughts were recoiling from unspoken but always feared scenarios. Tiny coffins and the end of the world. 

“I don’t know.” Delia’s voice broke even as she said it. Patsy realised it hadn’t been nerves, hadn’t been about them at all. 

She felt her legs begin to shake and slumped onto the sofa, her breath rattling in her throat. “What do you mean you don’t know?” She asked numbly.

“She... I was out. My mam- Something happened. An argument or- I don’t know what really. When I came back Pig wasn’t in the garden where Mam thought she was. I checked everywhere but she’s not here. Patsy she’s vanished. We don’t know where she is. No one has seen her and-“

“You left her with your mother?” Patsy raged, aghast. She couldn’t pick it all apart. So Pig couldn’t come to London but Delia could leave Pig at home while she was off who knew where. Fucking perfect.

“Don’t shout at me!’ Delia croaked. ‘Please Pats, she’s her grandmother. Mam is more than capable of watching Pig. Why would that be a worry?”

“I don’t see why it isn’t. Most other lizards eat their young you know.” Eileen really had been getting on Patsys nerves.

Delia sighed and Patsy knew, even in her current state of high tension, that she’d be rubbing her temples. Trying to keep calm. 

Good. Served her right.

“I don’t know what to do.’ Delia said eventually, thin and frail and frustratingly sad. ‘She’s so little Pats. What if something’s happened to her?”

This couldn’t be happening. Not Pig. This didn’t happen to good people. All at once Patsy was furious. At Delia for leaving. At the world for everything. She wanted to scream. Delia’s obvious fatigue wasn’t helpful. Patsy didn’t need or want Delia to be sad. She wanted to shout at her, she wanted to rail at everything that was ruined. She couldn’t do it if Delia was just going to be sad though. 

“Go back to the start.’ Patsy demanded, forcing herself to be practical in a crisis. It was what she was supposed to be good at. ‘What happened exactly? Have you called the police?”

“Of course I called the fucking police Patsy I’m not a moron!” 

Patsy gritted her teeth, closed her eyes and counted to ten slowly. “What did Pig and your mam argue about? Was she upset? Is there somewhere she might go if she wasn’t happy? School?”

“No. I’ve already been up there and checked. I don’t know exactly what happened between mam and Pig. She’s being very careful about it all but-“ she trailed off.

“But?” Patsy prompted firmly, not worried that this could get any worse just because of Delia’s embarrassment.

Delia sighed heavily. “I told Pig this morning that it was your birthday. She wanted to see you so I said I’d pick up your present in town and then we’d come down. Like a surprise. Only I didn’t tell mam. I think... I think Pig must have said something about it and mam-“

“Your mother put me down a peg or two.” Patsy finished flatly.

“She just doesn’t understand what we are, it confuses her and she hates that. It’s not personal.” Delia consoled weakly.

“Hard not to take it personally really. When did you call the police?”

“As soon as I realised she wasn’t there. I don’t know. Five maybe?”

Patsy felt her blood turn to ice. Her eyes found the clock on the wall and quickly ran through the easy calculations. “That was five hours ago.” She commented with detached interest. Her hands were shaking she was so angry.

“Pig took mams debit card and they tracked the payment. They think she booked a seat on a train although how the hell she managed that I don’t know. We contacted the train station but the train she booked had already left. The train was to London and-“

“So let me get this straight,’ Patsy cleared her throat loudly because she felt like she might choke on her own fury. ‘You waited five whole hours to contact me and let me know that our daughter is missing?”

“What was the point in calling you when I didn’t know anything?” Delia snapped back.

Patsy stood up, pacing the living room floor restlessly. “What was the point? She’s my kid too Delia. That’s the point.”

“There was nothing you could do. You’re four hours away by car.” Delia retorted.

“And who’s fault is that!” Patsy raged.

They both stopped talking, the silence thrumming between them as they grappled for control. 

“Which train station was she supposed to come out of?” Patsy asked eventually, her teeth cutting her tongue as the words rolled out clipped and taught.

“Victoria.’ Delia answered shakily. ‘It docked forty minutes ago. I’ve already called them, she was picked up on the cameras but by the time someone got down there she’d already vanished.”

Patsy rubbed her face trying to get some blood back into her cheeks. She needed to think clearly but all she could see was Pig, wandering around in London at night on her own. Her imagination painted stick figure shadows stalking her every move.

“Right, now I know what’s happened.’ Patsy tried very hard not to fill that statement with all the venom she felt, ‘I’ll go there now, try and see if I can find a trail or something. Someone must have seen her.”

“I’ve got a picture of her from this morning.’ Delia volunteered, content that both of them seemed to be choosing to focus on the important facts for now. ‘I can send you it. She’s wearing her yellow rain jacket and her jeans with the flowers on.”

“She’s still wearing those?’ Patsy shook her head in exasperation. ‘Delia I told you they’re too small in the leg, they cut off her blood supply.”

“That’s not really the point at the moment is it Pats?” Delia snapped. She’d chosen those jeans in the first place and had always liked them. 

Patsy was already shoving on her shoes when she realised she was still wearing her pyjamas. She swore under her breath as she began shoving her bottoms down her legs, the phone balanced on her shoulder, pinned there by her head. “I’m gong to change and I’ll head over there. Are you coming here or are you staying with your mam?”

“If... If you wouldn’t mind that?” Despite everything Delia actually sounded surprised. It was like fingernails down the blackboard of Patsys soul.

Her lips tightened into a grimace as she struggled with the buttons of her top. “I’ll call you if I hear anything. Can I trust you to do the same thing?”

Delia muttered something that Patsy didn’t catch, probably a Welsh insult given the tone. “Of course I will.”

“Right. Speak soon then.” Patsy didn’t wait for a response, already hanging up the phone and throwing it onto the stairs as she ran to her bedroom and began dragging out jeans and a t-shirt as fast as she could.

The doorbell rang as she was jumping on the spot, cramming her legs into tight jeans. She swore loudly, staggering towards the hall, praying to God that Trixie hadn’t decided to crash her night after all. The last thing she needed right now was Trixie drunkenly asking her about how lesbian had sex on top of everything else.

A large fist hammered on the door at the lack of answer. 

Patsys feet thumped on the carpet as she hopped down the stairs, her head poking into the wrong hole of her t-shirt.

“Alright! I’m coming!” She yelled through a mouth full of cotton. 

The fist didn’t let up as Patsy groped for her house keys and unlocked the latch. 

Fred nearly punched her in the face as the door swung open. 

“Jesus Fred. You know how to make an entrance.” Patsy puffed, out of breath. The air outside was freezing and she felt her skin prickle in distaste. 

Pig was out there in this though. 

Apparently unconcerned by Patsys obviously flustered presentation Fred was, unusually, beaming from ear to ear. “Evening Pats. Thought you might be asleep.”

“This isn’t really a good time Fred. Delia’s just called and-“

But Fred was still smiling and had raised his hand for silence. Then he winked.

Fred winked?

Patsy blinked back, non plussed.

“I was doing a bit of free lance work for my mate down at Euston this afternoon. Toilets and drains mostly,’ he added airily, tucking one hand in his pocket, ‘and I happened to see someone on my way back to the van that caught my eye. Thought it would be better to bring her home to you than get the authorities involved.”

Patsy tried to think but her thoughts had failed to show up. As he’d spoken Fred had moved aside slightly, one hand perching companionably on a small yellow clad shoulder.

Patsys knees gave way, all other concerns vanishing entirely as she seized hold of the girl stood sheepishly in front of her. “Pig!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand the Busbys are back in the room.
> 
> Also, the enterprising NowSeeHere has created a pupcake discord. For them that don’t know (and I was one of those thems because id never heard of it before it came up) discord is essentially like an old school blog. So far I think we’ve had thirty people join and the conversations have been banging. It can accessed on an app downloaded on the AppStore under the name “discord” 
> 
> Otherwise just follow this link https://discord.gg/wQDBMQsG
> 
> and join up. Registering takes about three minutes as it’ll ask for an email account, choose your username and a password and that’s it. See you on the dark side (if you fancy coming over there)
> 
> SB


	11. Chemistry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chemistry  
> Noun: the interaction of one personality with another.

“Pig!”

Pigs face was very pale set against her yellow water proof jacket but her chin protruded in that all too familiar stubborn line that was an entirely Busby female trait at the sound of Patsys shrill voice. 

“I’m coming home Patsy!” Pig said, her teeth chattering in the cold.

“Have you got any idea how worried everyone’s been?’ Patsy couldn’t stop shaking the tiny shoulders just a little as she spoke but the automatic scold didn’t contain any real power. Relief was sucking at her like novocaine. ‘I’ve had your mam on the phone, she’s beside herself with worry. Anything could have happened to you! You could have been hurt or stolen or, or anything.” God, even knowing that it wasn’t true the idea of something happening to Pig, of years never knowing what had happened, made her feel sick.

Pig wrapped her arms around Patsy neck and hung there like a heavy but lumpy weight as though trying to prove none of it was true, her mouth blurring shapes into Patsys skin as she spoke into her throat. She smelt of rain and baby shampoo and as close to perfect as Patsy had ever known. “I don’t care! I’m not going back there Pats. I won’t go and she can’t make me. I want to stay with you.”

Patsy felt something like hope bubble in her stomach. All the fear that she’d be forgotten was evaporating as she clung to her daughter. Even so. She had to be an adult about this. She didn’t have any rights. 

“Enfys your mam has had the Heddlu looking for you all over Pembrokeshire. Everyone has been panicking. I don’t know what’s happened but this is not-“

A tiny stubborn pucker had developed between Pigs eyes as she retreated far enough to reveal her scowl. “I don’t care what mam says.’ She insisted scathingly. ‘She lies. She said we were going to come home and it wasn’t true. I told grandma and she said we weren’t going to leave ever. She said I wasn’t going to see you ever again.”

“And you got here all on your own did you? Paid for the train with your own money?’ Patsy stared at Pig until the girl shifted guiltily. ‘Me and your mam didn’t raise you to be a thief Enfys.”

“Nanny deserved it.” Pig muttered at the floor.

Patsy shook her head. “No one deserves to have their trust broken. What you did was very wrong.”

“But she was wrong- She was Patsy!’ Pig was too much like Delia. It was hard not to smile at that face, those determined blue eyes. Patsy had never been able to resist either pair. ‘I hate her. She makes mam cry and all she does is tell lies. She told mam you had that horrible woman from before with you when you call me. She told me you were horrible and she told me penguins don’t wear tuxedos at all. She’s horrible. I’m not going back and mam can’t make me. She can’t, not if I’m with you.”

Patsy sagged, her hands fluttering on Pigs face without her willing it. Just checking that she was real. That Pig was honestly with her again. “Pig... I can’t speak for your grandma but your mam... Your mam loves you more than anything sweetheart. She wouldn’t lie to you.” Which was true to some extent. 

“But she does.’ Pig insisted, tiny fists balled against Patsys thighs, ‘she lies all the time too. About everything. She said I’d like Wales and I hate it. The water tastes funny, everyone’s mean to me because they say I talk funny and I’m English. She said I’d feel better when I started school but that wasn’t true either. The other kids won’t even play with me at break, I can’t understand them when the talk in Welsh. I miss my friends Pats. Mam said she wanted to be happy but she’s not. All she does is cry all the time and when I ask her why she lies to me again. She says she doesn’t miss you too but she does.’ Pig stamped her foot. ‘I hate it. I want to come home. I want her to come home. I want everyone to be happy again.”

Patsys mouth opened and shut, trying to formulate a worthy platitude against the onslaught of Pig’s rage. “Pig... Starting somewhere new is always hard-“

“No!’ Pig dragged herself back and stamped her feet again, a half jump of righteous indignation. ‘I don’t want to be happy in Wales. I want us to be happy here.”

“Sweetheart, you,’ Patsy could feel the lump in her throat. It was like clinging to a burning pyre through choice. But it was the right thing to do, for Delia and Pig’s sake and despite everything Patsy couldn’t not do the right thing by them. They deserved the right thing. ‘You belong with your mam. If she doesn’t want to be here then...’ Patsy swallowed hard, the emptiness of the future crushing her, ‘then you have to be there to help her. She’s going to need you.” 

The fact that Patsy needed them too didn’t matter. Not officially.

Pig was watching her owlishly. “But what about you? You need me too. You’re my mum too.’ Her bottom lip quivered ominously and her eyes filled with confused tears. ‘Aren’t you? Don’t you want us to be here? Don’t you love me anymore?”

Patsy felt her own treacherous tears falling too late to stop them. She felt winded even as she crushed Pig back into her arms. “Course I do.’ She growled into Pigs ear. ‘Of course I love you. I’m never not going to want you and your mam here.”

“So you’ve got to tell her Patsy, you’ve got to make her happy again.”

Patsy squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She felt exhausted and more useless than she’d ever felt before. “Pig,’ she sighed ‘it’s not that simple. Your mam and me,’ Patsy chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to focus on the current pain. ‘It’s more complicated. Sometimes... When grown ups don’t get on it, it’s worse, for you if they try to force themselves to make up. It wouldn’t be good for you to be in the middle of that sweetheart.”

Pig took a deep breath, face resolute. “I think you should ask her to marry you.”

Patsy was glad she was kneeling, anything else and she’d probably have fallen over in shock, her mouth hung open. “Wha-“ she choked.

Pig was nodding, clearly pleased with herself, hands tucked behind her back like a lawyer walking before a sold jury. “It’ll be easy Pats. Me and Fred talked about it a lot on the way over here. We think you should marry her and then she’ll be happy again and she’ll come home. Fred says diamonds make women very happy so I think you should get some of those now before mam comes here.’ Pigs face creased in consternation. ‘Only I don’t think you’ve got one yet. Maybe we can go to the shops? Would Tesco sell them do you think? Fred said they come from Africa but that’s a long way away and we’d have to get on a plane so maybe we should check tesco first? I’ve got nanny’s card still.’ In glassy eyed horror Patsy watched a slim rectangle of stolen plastic wave at her from eye level. ‘I’m not sure how much moneys on there but I think it should be enough. Grandad says nanny’s been saving for mams wedding day all her life so it should be okay. It’s not stealing if it’s what she put the money in there for.” Pig added seriously, frowning in concentration and actually taking an alarming step back as if to prove her willingness to go now.

Patsy was suddenly very aware of Fred still standing in the street. His face had misted into the red of shame as he cleared his throat. 

“Fred’s been telling you all of that has he?” Patsy croaked, feeling very much like she’d been clubbed over the head.

To his credit Fred didn’t have the nerve to actually meet Patsys eye as he shuffled from one foot to the other. “You know I think its time for me to get off, shall I?’ He mumbled, shamefaced, ‘Violet will be wondering where I’ve got to.”

Patsy watched him go bleary eyed. When she was sure he was out of earshot she turned to Pigs expectant and entirely unabashed face.

“So, shall we go now Pats?” Pig prompted eagerly.

Patsy frowned. Chewing her tongue. “Pig,’ she intoned gently, ‘it’s late. It’s nearly midnight. I need to ring your mam and tell her that you’ve been found.”

“No!’ Pig almost overbalanced them both as she clung to Patsys wrist. ‘You can’t call her yet, we need to make a speech up.”

“A speech?” Patsy repeated blankly.

“How you’re going to tell her that you love her.” Pig explained as though she thought Patsy was being dense. Her clear face shone with all the confidence of a six year old who’d had nothing else to do on a train journey than plan.

Patsy took a deep, fortifying breath. “Pig, I’m not sure what you think that’s going to do but... Your mam doesn’t feel like that about me.” God that hurt more than she’d expected. It was like eating acid, it burned her throat.

“Yes she does.’ Pig insisted stubbornly. ‘I heard her talking to grandma. Grandma said mam needed to stop being in love and mam said she didn’t know how. She meant you. So you just have to tell her Pats.”

Patsy wasn’t entirely sure she was hearing anything correctly. Pigs words pinged through her brain like dangerously rogue embers. She couldn’t afford any of them to spark into hope. She wouldn’t survive it when Delia arrived and snuffed that sort of hope out. She was barely living as it was.

Getting to her feet shakily Patsy closed the door firmly and put her hands on her hips. 

“I’m going to ring mam,’ she explained gravely, ‘and you need to eat something.”

Pigs face fell. “But-“ she started in a whine.

“No buts.’ Patsy intoned ominously before relenting and stroking her hand through her daughters rain splattered hair. ‘Pig, you could have been seriously hurt if Fred hadn’t found you. Your mam needs to know that you’re safe.”

“But you have to tell her that you love her.” Pig implored.

Patsy stared at her daughter, her heart breaking even as she hitched a smile on her face. “We’ll just have to see what happens sweetheart. Come on, I’ll make you a hot chocolate.”

Pig didn’t argue back, she seemed too defeated for that. At least the hot chocolate made her smile.

Then Patsy called Delia. She would be lying if a part of her didn’t consider waiting five hours to do so just to give Delia a taste of her own medicine but the more noble side won out in the end. Luckily it was a short call. Delia was already driving anyway and Pig flatly refused to speak to her mother so that had left a rather strained silence that ended when Delia informed Patsy that she’d be at the house by one at the latest.

Patsy had been almost grateful to end the call. A knot of anxiety squirming in her belly at the thought of seeing Delia made it hard to think straight let alone create small talk.

Pig helped ease the fear. She was like glue, refusing to leave Patsys side as they finished their drinks and went to sit in the living room. Patsy wasn’t much better, utterly smitten as Pig forcefully set about filling in all of the gaps that she hadn’t been able to fill in over Skype.

Patsy just let herself soak in the tsunami of words, luxuriating in having her daughter this close again. Pig had grown almost an inch in the last two months, her hair was longer too. Her cheeks a little less round. It made Patsys chest feel hollow to think that she’d missed it. The small gaps she wouldn’t get back. She’d never missed any of Pig’s life before this.

Patsy couldn’t stop stroking her face, hugging her too tight, tracing the short rice size finger nails with her thumb. Pig didn’t complain once, just snuggled into the welcome hoop of Patsys arms contentedly even as gabbled on excitedly, determined to share everything she could now that they were reunited. 

They ran through a vast litany of complaints starting with her new school where a girl called Clara, who had a scar on her nose and terrible dyed hair, had apparently dipped Pigs pigtails in red paint during art class. Patsy made Pig giggle in scandalised glee when she said a swear word in response. 

Pigs bedroom was too small and Eileen hadn’t allowed her to have her night light which Pig hated. Eileen made Pig eat too many peas at dinner time too which was about as unforgivable as murder in Pigs eyes. Her Grandad had taken Pig fishing with him on the weekends a few times and Patsy watched, half smiling, as Pig tried to explain with her hands how he’d taught her to hook the bait onto the end of the rod. How the fish had felt when she’d caught her first mackerel and let it go back into the water as carefully as she could so that she wouldn’t hurt it.

Patsy didn’t interrupt too often, conscious of the manipulative power she could wield just by asking her own careful questions. It was hard not to want to steer the conversation of course, but curiosity killed cats too easily and Patsy forced herself not to ask too much about Delia. It helped that Pig was happy enough to talk about Delia without prompting though.

Delia had been miserable apparently which, while Patsy knew it was wrong, did make Patsy feel a little better. Eileen had been pushing her hard to get a job in the local hospital but thus far Delia hadn’t done so. Pig had overheard a lot of arguments too when she’d gone to bed although the subject of the arguments hadn’t been entirely clear to her. Delia seemed to have done her level best to hide her low moods but it had still upset Pig. Confused her. They clearly weren’t talking at the moment.

From Patsys perspective the potential trip to come to London and see her now sounded more of a peace offering from Delia to Pig then any lingering wishes from Delia to see Patsy. To her consternation the sinking feeling in her chest told her that she had started to hope. Just a little. Only realising when it was fading away again.

Pig fell asleep just after midnight, her head lolling onto Patsys shoulder as she drifted off halfway through a detailed description of the swings at a park near Eileen’s house. Patsy didn’t have the heart to move her straight away, happily watching Pigs eyes move under the thin membrane of purple lids while she dreamed, her wide mouth puckered as she slept. She looked so young.

She really did look like her mother when she slept too.

But thinking of that seemed to make the shadows loom around them both. Delia would be here soon enough and Patsy had no way to predict her reception. The uncertainty left her queasy and she chewed her lip as she carefully carried Pig to bed.

Pig sighed when Patsy tucked her in, her eyes flickering restlessly until Patsy stroked her head and murmured, “It’s alright, go to sleep sweetheart.”

But it might not be alright Patsy told herself as she silently closed her daughters door behind her a few minutes later. It might not be alright and she mustn’t get her hopes up. She couldn’t afford to hope at the moment, her grip of life was tenuous enough.

Her eyes, as if drawn to it, lingered on Delia’s room. She’d avoided going in there for the first month, hadn’t wanted to see the evidence of how much she’d lost when she was so low. She’d only just got around to tidying it a few weeks ago more for something to do than any actual desire to be in there.

The bed was made at least and the remaining clothes folded neatly in the drawers again. It was serviceable as a guest room although the thought of someone else being in there left a sour taste in her mouth. 

She’d made Trixie sleep on the sofa.

Aware that time was moving against her wishes Patsy looked down at herself contemplatively. She’d shoved on any old jeans and t-shirt earlier and the overall effect now was rumpled scruffiness. She hesitated, not sure if there was much point trying to change this state of affairs before giving in and marching to her bedroom.

The bed was still unmade and, cursing herself for even worrying about this, she tucked it back into some semblance of neatness before turning to the task at hand.

Her wardrobe didn’t contain anything particularly inspiring. Plaid shirts and uniforms hung limply on their hangers, accusing her to diversify at some point in the future. She wanted to kick herself.

How could she not have one nice thing to wear?

Swearing under her breath Patsy picked the best she could find, a soft red flannel shirt and tucked it into her jeans, turning this way and that to judge herself in the mirror. At least the jeans fitted well.

Wryly Patsy shook her head at herself, pulling her imagination back from wild images of trying to seduce Delia with a well turned calf muscle and a dainty ankle like some sort of cartoon Victorian temptress. 

Her hair was impossible, no matter how much brushing it still hung limply from hours scrubbed back in a ponytail. 

Makeup? Patsy worried at the rarely opened box and eventually put it back resolutely. Not tonight. She didn’t want to add looking like a panda to the long list of humiliation she’d already worn if this went sour... Besides, her hands were too shaky to do any straight lines with accuracy. 

Perfume? Patsy fumbled through the old graveyard of glass bottles and picked one up at random. Her attention kept shifting to the road outside, listening for the tell tale swoosh of Delia’s car.

After that she walked downstairs, her blood pressure rising as she wound tighter and tighter.

She couldn’t seem to settle to anything. She tried to watch television at first but nothing could grab her and every five seconds was punctuated with the screen being muted as she tricked herself into thinking the doorbell had just rung. After that she just fell into pacing, wearing a smooth groove into the newly deep cleaned carpets as she chewed at a rogue thumbnail. 

How would the house look to Delia? Patsy eyed every paint chip, every surface for dust. At least she’d managed to repair most of the damage that she’d inflicted. The carpets had been easily rectified and she’d replaced the broken picture frames as soon as she could.

The kitchen wasn’t quite as good but she’d done her best. The oven door had been replaced but there was no easy fix for the gouge in the wall. Plasterers weren’t free until October.

As the night rolled on Patsy found herself just sitting on the bottom stair, her chin on her knees as she counted her seven times tables in her head. When she’d just reached 6,664 she finally saw it. A blur of light as headlights flashed on the street.

She held her breath. Waiting.

Showtime.

It seemed to take forever before the doorbell finally rang. Taking a deep steadying breath in Patsy got to her feet slowly. Shaky hands smoothing neat the folds of her shirt. Calming breaths, that was the thing. She didn’t want to appear too eager. 

She stood out of sight of the door as Delia continued to knock and counted to ten slowly in her head, still taking deep breaths. 

Control was the key. She had to be in control of herself, it wouldn’t do to lose her head. Half imagined images of herself bursting into a mortifying puddle of tears the second she saw Delia or instead losing her composure entirely and just snogging the ridiculous woman senseless until they were both too incoherent to actually argue when Patsy demanded Delia and Pig stay or, even worse, punching Delia straight in the face in a bid to knock out some of her stubbornness, all flashed through her mind like a headache inducing picture show.

She had to do this right. Whatever the hell this actually was.

One... Two... Three... Four... Five... Six....

The letter box flipped open before she reached seven. 

“Patsy! I can see your foot. I swear to God if you’re seriously counting to ten right now. Open the bloody door already, it’s bucketing it down out here!”

Unsteadily Patsy gave up on counting and stumbled towards the recriminating voice and, quite possibly, her doom. Her fingers fumbled on the latch and she couldn’t seem to remember how to open a door properly, it came forward in a jerky sort of movement that shoved painfully against her elbow.

Delia was swiftly revealed, standing on the step, rain water dripping off the point of her nose, her cheeks red with the cold.

Patsy swallowed. Even half drowned her heart seemed to be trying to gallop out of her chest. The emotions were conflicting and overwhelming. Pure relief, so utter and complete it was like a warm blanket. To actually see Delia, to be this close. 

She was here. Delia was actually here and Patsy had never been so glad of anything.

But there was the anger too. Sudden and immovable it curled through her shoulder blades, hackles rising in impotent fury.

And the hurt. Oh God the hurt. Small burning flecks of hot embarrassment that winked in and out across her face like pin pricks of fire. 

“H-Hello.” Patsy said through numb lips. It really was cold. The rain pattered around them, fat and heavy. She hadn’t even noticed it bouncing on the windows.

The skin around Delia’s eyes tightened imperceptibly as their eyes met, she swallowed once and then gestured into the house, a plastic carrier bag rustling where it was hooked over her wrist. “Can I come in? It’s freezing?” Her tone wasn’t as angry as before. Sheepish really. Nervous.

Patsy felt it too, the bouncy tenor of the awkward silence and nodded so hard it hurt her ears. She stepped back, grateful for the small distance until Delia was sliding past her, travel bag bouncing hard against the lip of the door.

Patsy shouldn’t have been able to feel the shape of Delia as they passed one another. They weren’t even that close.

But she did. 

It was like a magnetic pull. As though a part of herself was programmed always to bend towards the infuriating woman. It was inevitable. A gnawing sensation that told her no matter what happened next, if Delia left in the morning and never came back, if they didn’t see each for fifty years or longer, a part of her would always be lilting in Delia’s imagined direction. Would always flit against the barrier of space that connected them.

Patsy squeezed her eyes shut, working by feel to lock the front door, taking longer than the job really needed to compose herself before she faced the music.

Delia had rolled her small bag against the bottom of the stairs and she was shaking off her wet coat, neatly hanging it on the end of the stair bannister by the time Patsy was ready.

Patsy put her hands in her pockets and chewed her lip as she waited, poised for the first blow. Not at all sure what she should say. Not sure what the protocol was in these situations exactly.

Delia didn’t seem to inclined to help Patsy work it out, she didn’t meet Patsys eye either, already busy peering up the stairs towards Pigs room. 

“Is she sleeping?” She asked quietly, almost a whisper.

Still at a loss Patsy did tonight’s second performance of a nodding dog but stopped when she realised that Delia wasn’t looking at her yet. “Yeah, she was pretty whipped. Stubborn though,’ Patsy sighed, shaking her head at the obvious parallels, ‘forced herself to stay up until about one. She nodded off half an hour ago so I put her in bed.”

Delia ducked her head when she turned, her cheeks pink from cold or embarrassment perhaps. Her foot twiddling around on the carpet in an old nervous habit. “Right... Thanks for that Pats... I’m sorry it was all sprung on you like this.” She waved at the stairs stiffly as though Patsy might need the clarification. 

Patsy tried to shrug but her muscles were too tense. She couldn’t seem to decide what to do with her hands. “I didn’t mind... I mean better circumstances might have been better but... she’s safe and... Well, I’m glad I got to see her.”

Delia’s hand tightened around her belt as though she needed something to hold on to. She grimaced as they both hovered in uncomfortable silence, neither one knowing quite what to say next.

The hall felt rather loud considering no one was speaking. 

“Right, so I’ll- I’m just going to take a peek.’ Delia said eventually in forced cheerfulness. ‘Check she’s alright. You know how it is.”

Patsys finger curled in her pockets. Irrationally irritated that Delia couldn’t trust her with even this. If Pig was hurt she would have said. “Right... I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? I’ve got some Horlicks?” She’d picked it up on autopilot when she’d done her shop last week. Stupid really. Buying Horlicks and extra milk. She’d cried when she’d unpacked the bags and realised what she’d done. 

Hadn’t chucked them though, the stupid hope or just pig headedness making her tidy them away into their historical places in the empty fridge like it was just a normal day. Burying her head in the sand like always. 

Delia’s hair was a windswept mess, the gold undertones flaring in the muted light. She looked completely beautiful and Patsy wanted to cry. She wanted to fall to her knees and beg Delia to come home. Her stomach clenched like it was expecting a punch. 

“Actually... Have you got anything stronger Pats?’ Delia gave a half smile. One dimple flashed through the air and seemed to hold Patsy exactly in place. ‘I don’t know about you but I could do with a proper drink after today?”

Patsy nodded a moment too late, Delia was already climbing the stairs wearily, her feet leaving familiar creaks in the wooden steps as she rose. Patsy watched her disappear, rooted to the spot as her brain scrambled. She couldn’t seem to breathe properly. Her knees shook as she wobbled towards the kitchen.

Control. She needed to be better than this. 

And why the hell had she suggested a drink? Idiot.

There was nothing she could do about the chunk of missing wall, she’d already decided that but even so, she had hoped they’d stay away from the kitchen until she could think up a reasonable excuse. She’d already considered and discarded the prospect of talking some kind of earthquake into existence.

At least she could make a drink though. There was a new bottle of whiskey in the cupboard, a refill from Trixie after she’d run through most of the other spirits in the house while she’d stayed over. Patsy pulled the dark bottle from underneath its hiding place beneath the sink and cracked open the seal. Two glasses, ice. She could do this.

She put Delias drink on the kitchen table but couldn’t bring herself to sit down yet. She leant against the worktop instead. Sipping down the burning liquid as she listened carefully to Delia creeping around upstairs. Checking on Pig because Patsys word didn’t matter. 

Patsy had refilled her glass again by the time Delia came down, looking too much like a woman expecting a firing squad.

Patsy gave a rather strained smile in lew of greeting and nodded at the waiting drink. “Whiskey was all I had. Sorry.”

Delia slumped in the chair and sucked in a long mouthful of the stuff gratefully. Patsy raised her eyebrows at that, Delia wasn’t really much of a drinker. Neither of them were. 

Wordlessly Patsy put the bottle on the table. A tiny white flag. Truce. 

Delia didn’t even hesitate as she poured herself another drink out. 

“I can’t believe she got a train on her own.’ Delia muttered eventually, staring at the bottom of her glass. ‘Little bugger. She’s grounded by the way. For life. I’ve had my mam screaming blue murder on the phone all the way down here.”

It seemed to be Patsys night to practice nonchalant shrugging, she shifted from one foot to the other, draining her glass. “You shouldn’t be too harsh with her. She was upset, she wanted to see me.”

“Somethings different in here.” Delia wasn’t listening apparently, her eyes were narrowed as she scanned the kitchen, taking in the details. 

“So how was the traffic?’ Patsy said quickly, keen not to get onto this particular topic just yet. ‘I’d imagine it wouldn’t be too bad this time of night?”

“Have you redecorated?” Delia was frowning now, her sharp eyes staring at the oven suspiciously. Patsy moved a little to cover it with her body.

“That rains coming down hard.’ Patsy kept her hands busy by filling up her glass, she didn’t particularly want the drink but it stopped her having to meet Delia’s eye. ‘Lucky you didn’t aqua plane with all that.”

“And Pats,’ Delia gestured patiently at the incriminating hole in the plaster, ‘what exactly did you do to my wall?”

“So,’ Patsy swerved that particular minefield swiftly deciding that offence was the best defence at the moment, ‘I was thinking... It’s probably not the best thing for you to drive home... tonight I mean. You should stay here, at least, until you want to go back to your mams.” 

That seemed to break through the awkwardness, Delia licked her lips and hurriedly swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. “I- I was actually hoping you wouldn’t mind if I stayed? It’ll only be for tonight.”

Patsy wondered why that statement didn’t make her want to collapse. It was probably adrenaline. Adrenaline and the fact that Delia was really here. She could have another breakdown when Delia left after all.

If she left.

One shot. Last chance. Say it now or forever hold your peace.

“You don’t have to... Go tomorrow. You could stay,’ Patsy ran a finger down the outside of her glass, gathering a drop of condensation, dragging it in circles. ‘I’d like you to stay.”

Delia seemed to stiffen for half a second and then she slammed her hand against her forehead. “Your present. Shit! I almost forgot and I didn’t say happy birthday did I? God I’m so rude.’ She bounced out of her chair, half ran to the hallway and then turned back sheepishly. ‘Umm happy birthday.” She said shyly as though it was an afterthought before disappearing behind the stairs.

Patsy blinked, a pulse behind her right eye giving her an unplanned squint as she waited curiously as the sound of a bag rustling floated towards her. 

Delia reappeared a minute later, red faced, still rushing as she carried a glossy wrapped present and put it on the table expectantly. “I wanted to get you a card,’ she said apologetically, ‘but with Pig disappearing and my mam I didn’t have time. C’mon open it.”

Ferried along by the tide Patsy allowed herself to be dragged to sit in Delia’s only just recently vacated chair. Her heart thudded tunelessly when Delia’s hands gripped her shoulders and let go. She hadn’t been expecting it and her muscles had tensed against her will, poised for an escape. Delia stepped back, her hand over her mouth to hide an excited smile.

The unexpected turn had left Patsy thoroughly unseated. She was left blinking down at the neatly wrapped present blearily, trying to work out how the hell they’d got here. She’d expected Delia to at least answer her.

Against her will she felt a sick twisting sensation start to writhe in her stomach. 

It was so complicated that she couldn’t even say to herself what emotions were riding her hardest. There was a part of her that had spent hours, days, weeks imagining just this sort of scene. The two of them happy and normal. She’d wanted them to go back to being normal.

But faced with it now everything felt false, both of them trying too hard to make it natural. It was another lie and the past couldn’t be forgotten. She couldn’t forget it. This felt tinged with a depressing level of desperation. Why would she want a gift? Why would Delia want her to have a gift?

What she really wanted was Delia to answer her question. 

“Delia,’ Patsy said in as polite a tone as she could manage, hoping she could safely navigate them both away from the brooding danger of her complicated and disturbingly volatile reactions. ‘It’s not my birthday anymore. It’s gone midnight.”

Delia didn’t seem to realise how close the prospective danger of an explosion was to them both. She waved an airy hand, still not listening, “oh go on Pats. I want to see you open it.”

Patsys lips were too dry, swallowing felt impossible. All the anger was a bottle necking burn in her throat. Still, she tried. “Shouldn’t we wait for Pig to wake up? It was her idea after all.”

Delia shook her head fervently. “It was my idea. Please Pats, open it? For me?”

Patsy couldn’t look away, couldn’t ignore the request, when had she ever been able to say no to Delia after all?

The paper was nice, heavy weight and glossy to the touch. There was even a bow. Any other time Patsy would have taken more care in the unwrapping, it usually drove Delia mad on Christmas morning when Patsy carefully peeled away the paper and folded it neatly before opening any gift further. Now, she ripped at it. The violence soothing. 

Nestled inside the paper was a soft velvet bag. At an excited gesture from Delia Patsy pulled it free and opened the contents out into the palm of her hand. 

It was a leather charm bracelet with silver clasps and three dangling charms wound through already. Numbly Patsy touched the cool metal. The first was a silver teddy bear with the word mummy embossed across its chest. The second was a penguin with an acrylic red and gold scarf. The third was a single red heart. At a later date someone must have scribed the small single word on the back of the heart. Patsy read it slowly, “Cariad.”

Patsy stared at it, unable to form a coherent thought. A subtle buzzing noise was starting to fill her ears. 

“Do you like it?’ Delia asked gently from far away. 

“Like it?” Patsy repeated vaguely, weighing the metal in her hand.

“You said to buy you something shiny and I saw it in the shop window a few weeks ago in Tenby. I couldn’t resist. I had to pick it up this morning, the bloke couldn’t do it any earlier or we’d have been here this afternoon like I’d planned.” Delia beamed, apparently pleased at the job well done. 

Patsy snapped.

“What the hell is this?” Trying to remember how to breathe Patsy let the bracelet slip from her hand and slid the shredded shiny paper as far away from her as she physically could. It felt contaminated somehow. It was like a slap in the face that had been gift wrapped.

Delia’s face was suddenly knitted in worry as she followed Patsys movement. “It’s...’ she swapped the weight on her feet, her hands slapping her sides in an awkward half shrug. ‘It was Pig... She wanted to get you a birthday present... Thirty. It’s a big-“

“-Two months.’ Patsy interrupted stonily, unable to avoid the obvious. She couldn’t make her jaw work properly, couldn’t look at Delia because if she did she’d burst into tears. The room was too small, her insides felt as though they were being ripped apart, piece by piece. ‘You’ve not talked to me for two months Delia. Not one word. Not one text. You take five hours before you tell me our daughters gone missing...’ Patsy took a shaky breath in, her lungs felt like they had been wrapped in cling film, they didn’t seem to be filling up properly. ‘I’ve called, I’ve sent letters. I don’t know what other way I could have apologised. Apologised for being a prize prick, I made the wrong choice and I accept responsibility for that... But I have also done everything I can think of to make you talk to me, to make you hear how sorry I am and now... This. She gestured sharply at the discarded gift. ‘You’re acting like none of its happened. Who cares that it’s my birthday! Do you honestly think I care about any of that crap? You’ve been gone for two months! What the hell am I supposed to say to any of this Delia?”

Delia’s face had turned very white as she sank slowly into the chair opposite Patsy and laid her hands flat on the table. The fingers clenched and unclenched around one another. Tangling like a nest of vipers. The nails looked chewed, sore.

“I should have called you back. I wanted to...” Delia whispered and then took a deep breath, ‘I... I think it’s possible that I may have over-reacted... Slightly.”

“No? You think?” Patsy half snarled, barely getting a hold of her temper before it could spiral out of control. 

Delia stiffened, her jaw aligning into the insufferably stubborn set that made Patsys heart sink. “I was angry.” She retorted.

Patsy bit her cheek to stop the more colourful responses circling her brain from escaping. “Yes, I’m familiar with the emotion Delia.”

Delia’s eyes were glassy. Patsy couldn’t feel empathy for her embarrassment yet though. She’d have more than enough time for regretting later. After Delia left again.

“And you?’ It’s not as though I didn’t have a good reason to be angry.’ Delia folded her arms tightly across her chest. ‘You were the one bringing women home like you’re the bloody Fonz. Lying to me about who you were seeing, letting her talk to me like I was just a passing face. Anyway, what letters have you sent? I haven’t received any letters?”

“What!’ Patsy’s knee jerked up indignantly against her will and the table screeched at the impact. ‘I sent you two letters about how I felt! You never even text me a response.”

Delia shook her head firmly, “I didn’t get any letters!” 

“Well I sent them to your mams house!”

Delia’s back had stiffened, her eyes narrowed coolly. “Why would you do that? I’m surprised you had the time. From what my Mams told me you’ve had all sorts of women around here when you’ve called Pig. Hardly a selling point for us talking if you’re going to be introducing our daughter to strangers I haven’t even met.”

Patsy leaned back, dazed. “What women? There haven’t been any women. I’ve been lucky to change my socks the way it’s been here.”

“So my mam’s a liar then?” Delia retorted disbelievingly. 

Patsy ground her teeth together, imagining Eileen’s face if they ever came into contact again. “She’s a great many things. Right now being a liar is one of the nicest terms I can think of.”

“You really expect me to believe that you didn’t have sex with Emma after I left? Probably been waiting for the opportunity.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.’ Patsy said flatly, she couldn’t cry, she was too tightly wound to cry, ‘I’m not like that and you know it. For fucks sake we lived together for four years before I even got the courage to kiss you. I don’t know why you think I’ve become a sex demon.”

“So who were the women then?”

“There weren’t any! You’d know that if you bothered to be there when I spoke to our daughter instead of pawning her off on penis fingers.”

There was a long pause. “Penis fingers?”

Patsy didn’t even hesitate. “Eileen, so called because everything she touches she fucks. While we’re on this subject by the way; I hate the way she talks to Pig, like talking to me is some sort of crime. She’s barely on the chats for ten minutes before PF begs off. I have a right to see our daughter Delia.” Patsys fist beat on the table, all the churning worries blurting out in a mad rush. It was a relief to say it out loud. To say it to the only other person who could fix it, the only person she wanted to speak to. Even now. 

“You wanted me to do the calls?” Delia had lost her composure. Surprise was washing across her face like cold water.

“No I wanted Keira Knightly but you were the next best thing.’ Patsy barked. ‘Of course I wanted you to do it. I wanted to see you, all I’ve wanted since you left was to see you because you broke my heart and...’ Patsy ran her fingers through her hair, yanking at the strands. ‘And I can’t think without you here. You ripped my world apart. I haven’t stopped wanting you to be here since you left. I still haven’t now.”

Delia was gaping at her, her mouth hanging open in shock. “My mam said... You told her you’d rather she did it. That I wasn’t a part of it at all... To make it impartial?” For the first time Delia didn’t sound certain. She looked as though she was walking through some sort of mental labyrinth.

Patsy stared, her eyes pricked against her wishes and she wanted to throw something. Projectiles hitting Wales was too much to ask though. Damn Eileen. Damn Delia too for not believing in Patsy for a second.

Trying to think Patsy shook her head, it was all so ridiculous. She hated this. This was Delia! This was her family and she couldn’t make any of it right.

Whatever she had thought they’d had clearly hadn’t been equal on both sides. Delia couldn’t have ever loved her back if she’d allowed such an easy set of lies to destroy everything.

“Did... There really wasn’t another woman here?” Delias voice was small, doubtful.

It was the lingering doubt that did it. 

The doubt stung. A punch or a slap or an electric shot of pain that Patsy couldn’t ignore. Abruptly Patsy got to her feet. 

She had to get away before she lost her temper. She couldn’t be here. She couldn’t do this.

“The only people who’ve been here are Violet, Trixie or Phyllis. They came to stay for the first few weeks. After you left. To help me not jump in front of a train or whatever else I might have wanted to do while you were on the other side of the country.’ Needing the stability to stand straight Patsy wrapped her arms around her waist. ‘Did you not miss me at all? Did I mean that little to you?”

“Of course I missed you.’ Delia had risen too, her hands splayed on the table to steady herself, ‘I’ve been distraught. My mam thinks I’ve gone mad.”

“Well whose fault is that!’ Patsy shouted so loudly her vocal chords nearly ruptured. ‘I swear you are the most stubborn-“

“Don’t you start shouting at me! What was I supposed to think? I left you here to think about what you’d done, not parade whores around my house.”

“Our house,’ Patsy corrected automatically, ‘and none of that actually happened. Your mam lied and in the meantime you’ve taken away our daughter, you’ve left me to rot and now you think you can just waltz right back as though it didn’t happen.”

“I came here because Pig went missing and I wanted to see if you wanted to talk things through.”

“Oh, is that right?’ Patsy tried to laugh but her throat wouldn’t cooperate. All that happened was a pathetic sort of croak. ‘I thought you didn’t care about what I had to say. You didn’t want to hear it when I begged you to stay!”

“I! Was! Angry!” Delia punctuated each word with a rapid slap on the table.

“Well bully for you Delia because I’m bloody furious!” Patsy made a grunt of fury, beyond words and kicked the table leg hard in frustration. To her surprise it snapped cleanly in half, the leg wobbling away in juddering tinkle. The table crashed in on itself with a grinding moan of wood.

They both stared at the wreckage, non plussed.

Delia was the first one to try and break the tension, moving carefully around the pile to reach out for Patsys hand. “Pats.” She started softly.

But Patsy couldn’t take any more.

Childishly Patsy snatched her hand back and hopped ungainly over the wreckage. Flight superseding the urge to fight.

“Pats!’ Delia snapped at Patsys retreating back, ‘don’t you dare walk off, we aren’t finished here.”

Patsy didn’t bother to look back, she couldn’t be this close to Delia. It was crushing her. “We’re already finished according to you.’ She grunted. ‘What’s the point of talking, go and ask your mam what to do next, you believe everything she tells you already. Far be it from me to try and stop you. We’re done, I get it. Loud and clear.”

“Patsy!”

Patsy ignored her, taking the stairs at a leap, two at a time. To her sinking horror she saw that Pigs light was on in her bedroom when she reached the landing. She must be awake, must have heard their argument.

Patsy hesitated, desperately wanting to check on Pig, to make sure she was alright, to try and fix this mess but she stopped herself at the last second. Tomorrow morning Delia would take Pig home. It seemed inevitable. They’d be gone again and there was nothing Patsy could do to stop it.

What would a few empty words do to change the future? Delia wouldn’t listen to them and Pig... Well, Patsy had already let Pig down enough. She’d be better off without the memory of Patsy trying to lie to remember her by. 

Patsy managed to hold the tears in until she got to her bedroom but it was a close thing. The tears were blinding though and there didn’t seem to be any way to make them stop. It hurt. It hurt so much and she couldn’t find it in herself to be ashamed of what she’d said. She’d meant it. All of it.

Hiding in bed was something she’d done when she was small and upset. There was something safe about hiding out of sight. Lying in the dark. Retreating from a world which always seemed to be waiting with another boot to kick her with. 

She didn’t want to listen anymore. She didn’t want to talk. How could they fix something that was so clearly broken? That must have always been fundamentally damaged.

Delia came upstairs half an hour later, her steps faltering and thudding until she reached Pigs bedroom. Patsy’s heart sank when she heard Pigs door opening, the faint strains of muffled whispers, Pigs higher tone and Delia’s lower mingling through the dark. Accusing.

Patsy shut her eyes and tried to block it out. She’d never felt such a failure in her entire life. So useless. 

Delia hated her. She’d lost her family, her partner. She’d lost everything. Again. Always, always she lost everything. 

It came as more than a small surprise then when she heard the rustle of her bedroom opening up and the unexpected weight of a body flopping down onto her bed next to her.

“Well, I don’t know about you,’ Delia’s voice swept over her lightly, ‘but I thought that all went pretty terribly.”

Against her will Patsys lips almost twitched. It never ceased to surprise her when Delia did this. The way she could shock Patst without any effort, cut through tension, ignore atmospheres. It was why Delia was better with the miscarriages or the still births. She could put aside tensions, let them wash over her.

Patsy had never been quite so blessed. Now, all she could do was keep her eyes firmly closed and try to indicate with loud pretend snores that she wasn’t listening. Thanks very much.

The was a considerate pause and then a finger hooked through a gap in the covers and pressed pointedly under her armpit. Patsy twitched automatically and opened her eyes to glare at the woman watching her with a smirk on her face from a few inches away. 

“What?’ Patsy snarled. ‘What now? What do you want Delia?”

Delia’s smile faltered somewhat but she didn’t back away. Instead she stroked her finger down Patsys nose. The sensation was like ice. Too cold and unexpected. It froze Patsy stiff.

“You’re such a bad liar Pats. No one snores like that, least of all you.” Delia’s cheek twitched, dimples flashing fast as lightning.

Patsys hand enclosed Delia’s wandering finger tightly, her teeth grinding together. “Two months.’ She hissed an accusation, not willing to let go the argument in the kitchen no matter how much Delia wanted to. It hurt too much. ‘Two months of nothing. You take Pig away, you don’t answer my calls, you leave apparently for good and then you show up now with a birthday present all easy breezy like we’re going to play normal. What do you want from me Delia?”

The bravado had drained from Delia’s face along with any colour as Patsy had spoken. She was pale now, her eyes too shiny. “I don’t know.’ Delia whispered dully. ‘I really don’t Pats.”

Patsy let go of Delia’s hand like it was acid and gave a snort of disgust. Fumbling out of displaced anger she scrabbled for the end of her blanket and tried to shove it over her face. She wanted to hide for as long as it took to stop everything from hurting. It seemed a sick twist of fate that when Delia was actually here, she couldn’t bare to talk to her. Couldn’t hear another rejection.

“Pats.’ Delia sounded mildly amused at the admittedly childish move as she struggled, trying to lever Patsys obstructive arm out of the way. Giving up after a few fruitless tugs. ‘Well this is ridiculous. I’ve come all this way and you won’t even talk to me?”

“I don’t see why I should.’ Patsy snapped, glaring at the reverse design of her paisley duvet set. ‘You’ve made it more than clear that there’s nothing more to say.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” Delia sounded annoyed now. Good. Patsy hoped it hurt.

“I’m not enough! I get it. You don’t want anything to do with me.”

Delia sounded as though she was stifling a laugh with great difficulty although Patsy would have to move out of cover to actually check. “I’m not going to talk to you through a duvet Patience.”

Patsy said nothing, still furious and stubbornly staying where she was.

Even so, when she felt the bed move her heart still clenched. It was like being pulled in two. The pain of the last two months warring with the unstoppable need to be near Delia. It was disorientating, shocking that even if Delia had been the one to break her heart she was still the one Patsy wanted to fix it again. 

Pathetic really. 

“So Wales then. My mam really wanted me to enjoy being home.’ Delias voice drifted through the quilt, not far away but measured. As though she was thinking carefully about what she was saying before she said it. ‘I’ve driven her insane, we both know she’s wanted me back since Pig was born and I think it’s all been a massive disappointment for her... I’ve not been myself. She’s been worried.”

Patsy could feel Delia’s eyes burning her through the obstruction between them. Could sense the overwhelming urging to sit up and be a grown up but her own wounds held her where she lay. Useless and burning.

Delia sighed. “So... She’s kept pushing me to attend all of her little groups as she calls them, to settle in, and she really does them all Pats. I’ve always wondered how she fills her time and now I know. Women’s institute, book clubs, church committee, school governing board, even though she doesn’t have a kid in the school.’ Delia snorted ruefully. ‘Honestly, it’s like being the child of the mayor or something, I’m sure she thinks that she is the mayor the way she goes on about it all. Anyway, she kept nagging me about settling in and eventually I agreed just to appease her. You know how she gets when she’s focused on something.”

Very slowly Patsy slid her head free, the bait was too obvious to ignore. Delia was laid beside her, hands folded on her chest as she smirked up at the ceiling, purposefully not looking at Patsys newly emerged raised eyebrows.

“So,’ Delia went on bracingly, ‘as soon as I agreed she had me dressing up and off we went to this new ridiculous exercise class my aunty Blod wanted mam to go to.’ A mischievous glint twinkled in Delia’s eye. It was almost relish. ‘Only I don’t think mam actually knew what she was signing us up to.” At last Delia turned to grin at Patsy.

Against her will Patsy felt a sympathetic twinge in her mouth, the automatic response to join in on the joke.

“The class was called pole dancing for Jesus and most of my mams friends were there because she’d told them to be.”

“No.” Patsy breathed, fascinated despite herself.

“Oh yes.’ Delia nodded smugly. ‘Thirty post menopausal Welsh mothers and a pole made of wood. It was actually going well to start with,’ Delia added fairly although she still couldn’t stop the trace of laughter. “The instructor was a girl from Swansea and she was pretty good, professional even if she got a splinter. The women seemed to be willing to give it a go and my mam was just about dying with embarrassment. But then mams friend Brenda decided she was going to have a go at one of the more complex moves.”

“Not one legged Brenda?” Patsy groaned, aghast.

“The very same. She’s got her new prosthetic these days, I don’t think too many people even realised until the damn thing got wedged when she tried to do a flip. It was the leg, it got stuck where the pole had been jammed under the sloping roof.’ Delia shook with repressed laughter. ‘We managed to get her unstuck with the broom of course, after a few big jabs, but after that the class was pretty much over. I did some first aid for the concussion, kept my cool the entire time. Mam was horrified and forbade me from ever speaking of it again.”

“You didn’t even make a joke?” Patsy complained with feeling.

“I couldn’t!’ Delia shook her hands in the air. ‘Felt so bad for her but when we got back to mam’s...’ Delia sighed and bit her lip before turning to lay on her side so that they were looking at each other, noses nearly touching. ‘Oh Pats, it’s stupid but when I got back to mam’s I forgot that we weren’t talking. I was halfway to my phone before I realised that I couldn’t tell you and then I couldn’t stop crying. It feels wrong not being able to talk to you. You’re the person I tell this stuff to, I don’t want to do that with anybody else.’ She sighed deeply. ‘I don’t know, I moved back to Wales and it wasn’t home anymore. Not without you.”

Patsy felt as though she was drowning, she wanted more than anything for none of this to have happened. For the two of them to be like they had been. The anger wasn’t gone but neither was the love.

There was a long space of silence. Delia looked tired, the whites of her eyes pink and puffy. It really was late. Way past midnight. Patsy wanted to sleep, wanted cessation of all of it. 

“I threw our oven at Max.” Patsy confessed sheepishly, breaking the companionable quiet.

Whatever Delia seemed to have been expecting, it hadn’t been that. She froze for half a second, her forehead creasing in confusion as she tried to understand. “Oh.” She mouthed jerkily, nodding slowly and then burst into shocked laughter. The laughter was so loud and unexpected that it actually made Patsy jump.

Delia couldn’t seem to make it stop though. Great bubbles of giggles filled the room that couldn’t be stemmed and eventually forced Delia to sit up, clutching her stomach. Patsy couldn’t help but join in. The image of it was too funny. Too ridiculous. 

“It’s not f-funny.’ Patsy hiccuped wiping tears from her eyes. ‘I could have really h-hurt him.”

“Please tell me you, you, you got him a l-little bit.” Delia begged, choking as she tried to force down the lingering chuckles.

Patsy shook her head, her cheeks sore. “I threw the kettle too.”

Delia cackled manically. “Why? No, no, we shouldn’t be laughing,’ she tried to force her face into a more serious expression but that just sent her into another bout of giggles that lasted a minute until she could compose herself. With a big effort she rubbed her face. ‘Okay, I have to ask, why? Why did you throw our oven at Max? Not that I haven’t been close more than once but what did it?”

Patsy felt the humour draining from her as she stared at Delia’s face. The agony ripped at her, gnawed at her heart. “You don’t know? I thought you were the one who sent him?”

“Me?’ Delia looked mildly amused at the thought. ‘I’ve only spoken to Max once to tell him where Pig was. Why would I know?”

Patsy frowned. “He came here, the morning after you- when you went. Said he was giving me a message; I wasn’t allowed to see Pig. Or you.’ Patsys lips thinned, she couldn’t ignore the pain. She didn’t want to remember what had happened after he’d gone. ‘And then he decided to make a few points he’s been desperate to say, I lost my temper.”

“What did he say?” Delia looked concerned now and this time Patsy didn’t flinch when she felt Delia’s tentative touch on her face. It made her want to cry though. 

She wanted to bawl.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not important.” She sniffed gruffly.

“It matters to me, he doesn’t have the right to say anything to you about us.” Delia disagreed smartly. 

Patsy gave a half hearted smile. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear about it.”

“I-‘ Delia sighed and retrieved her hand. ‘I wanted to talk to you but I needed some time.”

“I understand that.’ Patsy agreed gloomily, ‘but what you said... About Maggie? That wasn’t fair.”

Delia fidgeted, uncomfortable. “Patsy you don’t need to talk about this.”

Patsy knew that she was being offered an out, a way of staying in this moment, this shared reprieve in humour, but they both knew that they couldn’t do it forever. It wouldn’t last if they didn’t say something meaningful and she might not have another opportunity.

“I loved my wife-No!” Patsy shouted loudly, her hand gripping suddenly Delia’s shoulder to keep her sat where she was. At Patsys words she’d flinched, legs twisting to leave and Patsy wasn’t going to watch Delia walk away a second time without having her say. Not this time. “You can’t leave me citing that I don’t talk about how I feel and then bugger off when I try. You can’t have it both ways and still make me the bad guy. Whether you like it or not you are going to listen to me Delia. You can do whatever you want when I’m done but you more than owe me a few minutes of your time.”

They were glaring at one another, the shadows cutting shapes across both faces, each waiting to see who would win this battle. 

Delia looked away first, her shoulders relaxing infinitesimally. “Alright,’ she muttered sounding defeated to the bedside lamp rather than Patsy, ‘say what you have to say.”

Patsy didn’t sigh. There wasn’t the breath to sigh left in her, she felt hollow. Letting go of Delias shoulder she wiped damp palms on her duvet, smoothing out the soft wrinkles there. 

Even having spent the last two months thinking of this speech didn’t make it easier to say. She felt light headed, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. They never talked about Maggie. They never talked about relationships or deep feelings. 

They had to do it though. She had to do it or she’d lose Delia. She’d probably already lost her anyway but that didn’t mean this didn’t need to be done. She should have done it years ago.

Patsy took a deep breath. Showtime.

“I loved my wife Delia. I won’t apologise for that; I can’t.’ Patsy wished she could hold Delia’s hand. Saying anything about Maggie hurt. ‘Maggie wasn’t a last choice or a mistake or an ex that I fell out of love with. She was the woman I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with and a part of me will always love her for that. I don’t have any mixed feelings; sadness maybe but I never stopped loving her and I won’t apologise for that either. She deserves to be remembered and I do. I always will remember her.’  
Patsy closed her eyes, squeezing the bridge of her nose sharply, ignoring the stabbing sensation of guilt in her chest for what she had to admit next.

“But Maggie is dead.’ Saying it aloud was painful. True but painful. Oddly enough they’d very rarely discussed any of this. Before Delia had left Patsy had always assumed the lack of discussion had been Delias polite way of avoiding a painful topic but now a second consideration had arisen. One that Patsy realised she should have noticed and addressed sooner. ‘She died nearly ten years ago and I didn’t. I didn’t die and I’m more than capable of falling in love again. With you. I love you too Delia.”

Opening her eyes Patsy realised that she had Delias full attention now. The blue iris’s were fixed hard on her own face, the expression unreadable. 

‘I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. Stupid ones mostly, stuff you break and can’t fix again... But Maggie is dead and I thought...’ Patsy shut her eyes again, ashamed of herself, ‘For the longest time I thought that I couldn’t love anyone again. I thought I’d lost the ability entirely, that my heart was so broken it couldn’t be fixed. I never looked at anyone and wanted them, it felt like all of that had died with her. It seemed impossible that I could ever fall for someone like I’d fallen for her and in a way I was right.’

Once again Patsy sensed Delia tense and raised a hand in warning, speeding up just in case. ‘It’s not the same sort of love is what I’m trying to say... I don’t think it ever can be. Two people. Any two people they make their own sort of love and I’ve thought about this a lot, not thought of much else since you left actually,’ she sighed, ‘I’ve thought about everything we did and I still couldn’t say what would have happened if she hadn’t died and I’d met you. If I could have chosen.’ She smiled tentatively at Delia’s face. Hoping she’d understand. ‘I won’t lie and say that that idea doesn’t keep me up at night worrying that I’m some kind of monster either. If I knew what we had and jumped into a universe with Maggie still in it... I don’t know if I’d want to stay with her.’ Patsy shook her head, half disgusted and half amused at the rambling. Poised at any moment for the sound of Delia leaving.

Stubbornly she closed her eyes again, ashamed of the admission. She couldn’t watch Delia go. Or see the anger.

“I know when we last spoke that you said you knew that I loved you. I suppose I knew that you loved me too but I should have told you. I should have told you how much I love you. I should have said it every day so you didn’t doubt me, or think that I ever wished you were someone else. I love you more than I can say, more that I have language to make sense of it all. I know people talk about stars and things like that but I don’t think I’d do that sort of thing justice. Fact of the matter is Deels that I can’t remember when I didn’t love you. I don’t remember falling in love with you or when I realised that you had become my future, that you were the one person that I needed to be with. I think I should have known it the first day we met when you made me smile for the first time. Or when you told me you were having Pig. Or the first time we slept together. It was all just... Such a stupid waste of time, pretending that we were just friends. You could never just be my friend.”

Forcing herself not to be a coward Patsy peeked up at Delia. She was crying and Patsy couldn’t tell whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“I can’t apologise for loving Maggie.’ Patsy said heavily. ‘I’ll always love Maggie for what she was to me but I love you too. I love both of you and you can’t be jealous about that. You can’t be jealous of a dead person because she’s not here and even if she was... The way I love you is different. I couldn’t go back now.”

Patsy leaned back, the sharp bite of the headboard a welcome sensation against the back of her head. 

There wasn’t anything else she could say. That was it. Perhaps it wasn’t eloquent enough, perhaps Delia would leave but at least she’d said it. At least she’d tried.

She waited. Tense for the drop of feet on the floor. The door creaking. The absence of the future she’d always considered hers. 

Instead she almost jumped when she felt Delia’s hand squeeze her own. Shakily she looked up, expecting anger.

It wasn’t there. It was just Delia. Crying admittedly but still Delia. Half smiling properly for the first time in what felt like forever. 

“Thank you Pats.’ Delia said softly and Patsy realised muzzily that she hadn’t been breathing. 

The relief was like reaching air after you’d been drowning. Patsy couldn’t stop sucking in air. She thought she might hyperventilate from the sweet realisation that Delia was still here. Smiling. Smiling at her.

“I’m so sorry.’ Patsy gasped, tears spilling down her face. ‘I’m so sorry that I fucked this up.”

“I’m sorry.’ Delia sniffed, half laughing and half crying. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I said about Maggie. I’m not... I’m not really jealous.”

“But you said-“ Patsy couldn’t really keep up, she was too high on relief.

“I wasn’t jealous, I’m not jealous,’ Delia insisted, ‘not of Maggie. Well,’ she hesitated, ‘not a lot anyway. I shouldn’t have said that, I was just angry and I was trying to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“Not jealous of Maggie... But Emma then?” Patsy queried tentatively, wary of hitting a landmine when they seemed to have momentarily hit smooth ice.

A muscle in Delia’s jaw ticked as she chewed thin air. She seemed to be debating something and then she nodded. “Yes...’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Yes, I was jealous of Emma. Still am as it goes.”

“Deels, there’s nothing to be jealous of.’ Patsy sat up, holding on to Delia’s wrists, willing Delia to believe her. ‘I don’t feel anything for Emma, I never have.”

“Oh?’ Delia’s voice broke. ‘You made more effort to go on a date for a woman you haven’t spoken to in nearly a decade than you have ever made for me. What does that say Pats? What am I supposed to think about that?”

Patsy felt a numb streak run down her face. Shame. She should have been better than this. “I’m so sorry.”

“But really, what am I supposed to think Pats?’ Delia repeated, a note of desperation tumbling into her voice. ‘You’re saying this all now but you deliberately didn’t tell me who you were meeting. You lied to me about who she was when you did tell me.”

“Not because I thought you had something to worry about.’ Patsy defended urgently. ‘It didn’t even occur to me when I said yes to her that there was something to worry about. It was just meeting up with Maggie’s best friend. It made me nervous and then Trixie made this stupid comment about Emma and I didn’t want you to worry because there was nothing to worry about.”

“And then to top it all off,’ Delia went on as if Patsy hadn’t spoken. ‘You brought the bitch to my home. You let her talk to Pig. Why?’ Delia thumped the bed. ‘Why would you do that to me?”

“Delia I am so sorry.” Patsy mumbled uselessly.

“Is it me? Did I do something wrong? Am I not enough? Or is it the sex? Should I have done something else or what?’ Delia swiped her fringe out of her eyes angrily. ‘What is it Patsy?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Patsy groaned.

“Then what is it? It’s been driving me mental. What made you do that? You have got to explain it to me Pats.” Delia’s chest was rising and falling with every word. Her chin stubbornly firm as she waited. Expectant.

Patsy blinked at her blearily and tried to think. The answer was an obvious one but that didn’t make it easy. The easy roads rarely led to good endings though. 

“I hate the rules. I hate not being able to call you my girlfriend. I hate that we pretend we’re not what we are. With everyone.’ She snorted, ‘not that we should have bothered. They all knew anyway. Even Pig.”

Delia’s face twisted into horror. “Pig knows?”

“She wanted me to propose to you tonight.’ Patsy sighed and picked at an errant strand of lint off the duvet. ‘Had a whole plan for me laid out.”

Delia looked thunderstruck, Patsy wondered if she’d looked much better when Pig had made her announcement earlier.

“She really told you to propose?” Delia asked weakly.

Patsy nodded blithely. “Yep.”

Delia looked at the ceiling, the wheels in her mind turning so hard Patsy could practically see them. “That’s... What did you say to that?”

Patsy raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I told her that things were too complicated to just fix with a ring.”

Delia considered that too, frowning. “My dads right you know, Busby women really are so sharp they cut themselves if they’re not careful.”

Patsy chuckled darkly. “He’s not wrong.”

The mood seemed to settle somewhat after that. Delia lay down after a minor hesitation and they both stared blankly at the ceiling. Locked in their own personal reflections.

It was Delia who broke the silence this time. “Sometimes,’ she started stallingly, her voice raw, ‘I feel as though we’ve lived like ghosts. I knew that I had parts of you but... Not really. Not the whole thing... Like we don’t live the same lives. Or not honest lives anyway.

“And you think I don’t feel the same way?” Patsy asked bitterly.

Delia sighed and swallowed. “Sometimes it seems like you find it easier than I do... I didn’t know how you felt Pats. I never really knew because you never said anything about it. You were the one always telling me to keep to the stupid rules.”

“You didn’t say anything either!’ Patsy parried. ‘And it’s the same for me. I... Sometimes I’d feel like I was trapped. Screaming behind the walls of a box that I couldn’t get out of. I hate all of it. I hate not being able to be honest.”

Delia sniffed, her finger dancing patterns on the duvet an inch away from Patsys hand. “Did you want to get out?’ She asked very quietly as though bracing for an assault. ‘Were you bored? With me? Was I not... Was I not enough? Is that why?”

“No!’ Patsy despaired, a vein was pounding in her head. ‘I just wanted the walls to come down. All the stupid rules. All the pretence. It was driving me insane. There was so many times I just wanted to be allowed to be someone who could, I don’t know, hug you in the kitchen and there was always barriers. I hate all of it.”

“So why not just say that to me?’ Delia demanded. ‘Why did you do it? Why humiliate me like that? Why that particular night, why her? You knew. I asked you specifically not to do it and you did. Why? Why Patsy?”

Patsy could feel the tears dripping off her nose, she felt like a failure. Maggie would have kicked her if she’d been here. “I don’t know. I was stupid but I didn’t... I never saw her like that. Emma was always just a friend, I never thought of her romantically. It was...’ she scrubbed her face, trying to organise her thoughts amidst chaos. ‘I was drunk and we were talking about Maggie and I got sucked into it. It’s not an excuse,’ she added firmly, ‘I take responsibility for being an arse and I shouldn’t have done it but I never intended... I didn’t mean to hurt you or us or anything like that.’ She gave a feeble laugh, ‘I was drunk and I made one bad choice. And I have been more than paying for it since then.”

Delia shook her head, wonderingly. “You really hate the rules too?” She asked disbelievingly.

Patsy stared at her, the sadness almost crushing her. How could two people be so stupid for so long?

Giving in at last she scooted over until her arm was tucked securely around Delia’s waist. Delia’s collar bone poked her cheek but she was deliciously warm and solid. Patsy took in a deep breath just to fill her lungs with the smell of her. 

“I really hate the rules.” Patsy confirmed heavily.

There was a long pause as Delia seemed to process that and then; “why the hell didn’t you say something?”

Patsy laughed darkly. “I always thought that I’d lose you if I asked for more. Stupid, isn’t it? I didn’t say anything and I lost you anyway.”

There was another pause before Delia sighed. “You didn’t lose me. I’ve been trying to get the speech right in my head all the way down here... And here you are saying all the things I haven’t been able to... But I want to try again... If you’ll have me?”

Patsy stared at the play of shadows on the opposite wall. Her mind eerily empty.

Hope. It always got you in the end, didn’t it?

“I’ve been thinking...’ Patsy hummed. ‘We did it all wrong. At the start I mean. You and me. Backwards. We had the kid and the house and skipped the whole dating part. I’ve been thinking too...’ she felt her nerves jittering at the unexpected vulnerability. ‘That, if you want to, we could fix that? Start again. Properly this time.”

Delia was very still underneath her, Patsy could feel Delia’s heart thrumming beneath her ear. Scared as Patsy was.

When fingers combed through Patsys hair they both smiled. Thawing out quietly. 

“Properly?’ Delia repeated slowly, as though testing out the idea. ‘What does properly mean?”

Patsy rubbed her thumb along the edge of Delia’s ribs. “Well,’ she pondered, ‘it means that we don’t lie anymore. You tell your mam, I tell my dad. Family and friends... Trixie already knows. And Violet.’ Patsy frowned, ‘did you know Violets known for years?” She’d been more than a bit perturbed to realise that fact when she’d worked it out. More so because all the mornings that they’d rushed to look respectable when Violet had been bringing round Pig after a sleep over had been apparently pointless. 

Delia sighed. “My dad knows too, mam probably knows but she’s ignoring it. She gave me this stupid lecture on how I needed to fall out of love to find another one.’ Without looking Patsy knew that Delia was rolling her eyes. ‘What does dating mean?”

Patsy grinned. “We go out. Together. As us. No more rules... And you move back here.”

“Here?’ Delia’s hands paused in mid stroke. ‘As in here... Or... In my bedroom?”

That intimation wasn’t vague at all. 

Patsy felt her face flush for an entirely different reason this time. She couldn’t even consider that avenue of thought yet

“If we’re starting again, from the start... Properly. The I don’t think we should... We should take our time.’ Was the best she could answer to that. She turned her head to blink calmly up at Delia’s pink face. ‘We’ve got time. Right?”

A slow, happy smile unfolded across Delia’s mouth and a hand hovered above Patsys head. Delia’s outstretched palm. “I like the idea of time... And If we’re starting again... Nice to meet you Patience Mount.”

Patsy laughed but played along, taking Delia’s hand. They shook. “You too Delia Busby. You too.”

It was a start at least. It was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go. Hopefully it’s not as bad to read for you as it was to write this mother of a chapter. I’ve read it through more times than I want to admit and I’m giving in and letting it go.
> 
> They’re back. 
> 
> SB


End file.
